Til We Meet Again
by MistressOfImladris
Summary: After Celebrian sails, the twins seek revenge for what their mother suffered at the hands of the Orcs. The story ends with the Half-Elven family's reunion in Valinor. Sequel to Til the Sea Do Us Part.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

For years after their mother's sailing, the twins rode out in pursuit of the Orcs. Whenever news of the creatures came to them, they would saddle their horses, Beledhel and Eldroth, and leave the valley for months, even years, at a time.

Sometimes they would hunt with just the two of them, other times they would join the Dúnedain, who were often encamped at the base of the Misty Mountains.

They killed without mercy but did not torture, somehow hoping that after slaying enough Orcs, the pain and guilt would release them from its grip.

Their father, Lord Elrond, feared every time they rode out that they would not return alive, or that one would die, and the other would succumb to his grief and follow soon after. But the twins, in their fury, ignored all attempts made by their father and those who held influence over them, and they would not be restrained in Imladris.

Celebrian had sailed in the year 2510 of the Third Age. Now, three hundred years after, the twins still rode after the Orcs, sometimes coming back on the brink of death from their many wounds.

It happened that Elladan and Elrohir were at Imladris, recovering from poisoned wounds, when the Chieftain of the Rangers, Arathorn son of Arador, rode up to the gate. The Ranger seemed deeply concerned, for he pleaded for a private audience with Lord Elrond as soon as could be.

'Orcs are attacking the villages,' he told Elrond, while pacing back and forth in the study. 'I have come to beg for the assistance of the Elves, if they can spare the warriors.'

Elrond glanced uneasily in the direction the healing wards. 'My sons are recently returned from their latest escapade, half dead from poison. I would have them remain here, but if they find out that you are come for this reason, I fear that nothing, not even my orders, shall be able to keep them from riding with you.'

'The fighting-skills of an Elf are great. I do not need many, and it does not have to be your sons, Elrond,' Arathorn replied.

'They would not see it that way. If they hear of Orcs nearby, they leave, whether or not they are fully healed.' Elrond poured two glasses of wine and passed one to Arathorn, who nodded his thanks.

At that moment, a knock came on the door. Upon opening it, Elrond recognised one of the healers whom he had assigned to Elladan and Elrohir.

'Forgive me for interrupting, my lord,' she said to Elrond, glancing at Arathorn. 'But your sons have heard of the visitor; they demand that you release them from the bloody ward.' She blushed as she noted her lord's obvious annoyance. Perhaps she should have changed Elladan's wording a little. 'Your sons' words, not mine, my lord,' she added as an afterthought.

'They demand, do they? Well, mellon-nin, would you be so kind as to tell them that their father _demands_ that they remain in their beds until he comes to teach the meaning of the word 'demand,' and who has the right to put it into use.'

The healer gave a slight bow. 'Yes, Lord Elrond. I do not know for how long the healers shall be able to restrain them, though.'

'Just do the best you can, leave the rest to me.' He shut the door after she turned away, and turned to Arathorn. 'I am sorry about that.'

'It is nothing. How recovered are your sons?' Arathorn took a sip of wine.

'If they planned to stay here in Imladris for a while, then I would release them now, but they are not well enough to leave the Valley within the week, as they would do if I were to give them permission.'

Arathorn nodded.

Elrond was silent for a moment. 'I can send twelve of Glorfindel's warriors back with you,' he said finally. 'How soon do you wish to leave?'

'I should leave as soon as may be,' Arathorn replied. 'My wife and my son are at the village, staying with my parents-in-law. Her father, Dírhael, has agreed to lead the Dúnedain in my absence.'

'You must stay the night, at least,' Elrond said. 'It is not safe to travel by dark these days. I shall have a room prepared for you.'

'You have my thanks,' Arathorn said gratefully, bowing. He drained his glass and placed it on the side-table. 'I shall leave at dawn, so as to cause no more trouble than I already have.' He raised his eyebrows at Elrond, who grimaced back.

The Elven lord went to his desk and rang a small silver ball. Within moments, a maid appeared at the door.

'You called, my lord?'

'I did,' Elrond answered. 'Would you be so kind as to escort our guest to a room?'

'Of course, my lord.' She stood back to let Arathorn pass her. 'This way, sir.'

Once the man and maid had left, Elrond sat down on the edge of his desk, sipping his wine. Abruptly, he rose again and summoned a second maid to fetch Glorfindel to him.

The Balrog-slayer entered. 'Is something wrong?'

'I cannot right say,' Elrond replied wryly. 'Arathorn is come, and he begs for help. His village is being ambushed, and he has too few men. I have promised him twelve warriors from your detachment. Can you comply?'

Glorfindel chewed his lip for a moment. 'I do not see why not,' he finally answered. 'When must they be ready?'

'Arathorn leaves tomorrow at dawn. You had best pick those to go immediately, but make sure news does not reach the twins.'

'I am afraid that it already has. I was in their room before a maid summoned me to you; they were bent on going, permission or no. I am afraid that their civil tongues are on leave from duty at the moment.'

'If I have to put them in the prison cells, I will keep them here,' Elrond stated firmly. 'At the least, they shall be tied to their beds. As for the civil tongues, I am afraid that they have them when they desire to, but they can rid themselves of them at a moment's notice.'

Glorfindel could not keep back a smile: the mental pictures that came to mind of the twins howling as they were fastened to their beds was amusing.

'I am in earnest,' Elrond said, seeing Glorfindel's mirth.

'I know you are,' Glorfindel assured him. 'Is that all?'

'Yes, get the warriors together. Thank you, Glorfindel.' Elrond walked and placed his now-empty glass beside Arathorn's. 'I must demand things of certain persons.'

Glorfindel and Elrond walked together till they arrived at the door nearest to the barracks. Glorfindel went through this, while Elrond continued down to the healing wing.

When he opened the door, the sight that met him did not surprise him, for he had expected it. The twins were sitting up in bed, ferocious scowls plastered across their faces as they exchanged heated words with the healers assigned to them.

'Elladan! Elrohir!' Elrond barked. Both his sons and the healers turned to face him, none of them having heard him enter the room. 'Lie down instantly and do not say another word until you are given leave.'

The twins reluctantly obeyed as Elrond nodded at the healers. They filed out of the room, no doubt inwardly sighing in relief at their dismissal.

'So you have heard of our guest?' Elrond asked curtly.

The twins were too sullen to respond.

'I suppose that you want to know why he is here,' their father continued.

Still no reply.

'Arathorn is in need of additional warriors to help protect his villages from Orc attacks. I have asked Glorfindel to assign twelve of his best men to accompany Arathorn when he returns to his people.'

Elladan opened his mouth but Elrond held up his hand. 'Do _not_ speak,' he warned. 'Were you two planning on staying in the Valley for longer instead of leaving within the week, I would allow you to leave the healing ward at this time. I know, however, that you would never agree to remain at home for so long. What is it, Elladan?'

Elladan spoke up, his voice tight with anger and ill-concealed pain. 'What does it matter to you what we do or where we go? We go to revenge what happened to our mother. I know that you do not care a shred for our reasons, since all you did was stay here, sitting in the comfort of Imladris, while we went and rescued Naneth. You–'

Elladan broke off when he suddenly found Elrond's face right in front of his.

'You think what you like, Elladan,' Elrond answered in a steely voice. 'But you will not ride with Arathorn. You are not yet recovered enough to do so. And I will keep you here, no matter what it takes to do so.'

Now Elrohir spoke. 'You cannot do that, Adar. We are not Elflings. We have our own minds, and we use them.'

'Do you?' snapped Elrond. 'Going out on mad hunts for Orcs does not seem to show intelligence on your parts. Coming back from these more dead than alive every time does no more to convince me. You show me where you are obviously using your heads in all of this.'

The twins were silent, each trying to think of what to say.

'My point is proven,' Elrond said, moving to stand in between their beds. 'Elves are supposed to be renowned for being wise and valiant. If you two represented the Elves for whatever reason, would people's opinions change or stay the same? And if they changed, would it be for the better or worse?'

'How are we not being valiant, Adar?' asked Elladan, unwilling to admit defeat.

'You will deny this as long as you have the strength to, but still I will say it: you are hunting Orcs for yourselves more than your mother. You seek to escape from memories and realities, and to you, the only way to do this is to kill. Granted, it is Orcs you take your wrath out on, but you must remember: the Orcs did not manage to kill your mother. Not her body, not her soul. Her spirit was scarred in such a way that nothing in Middle-earth could cure it, and for this reason she sailed from Arda.' Elrond paused, attempting to swallow the growing lump in his throat and subdue the ache in his chest. 'But we must live in the hope that the eternal peace she will know in Valinor will heal her completely. We must trust that when we see her again, she shall be even more vibrantly beautiful and healthy than she was on this side of the Sea.

'We all have different ways of dealing with her departure: Arwen spends her time with your grandparents in their golden realm, you seek revenge, while to you, I appear to be indifferent to the happenings of the past three hundred and thirty years. Even Glorfindel has been changed: he has ordered longer patrols on the borders and in the mountains, and he trains the warriors in more strict a fashion than before. You tell yourselves that you are doing this with your mother as your foremost thought, but your mother is healing, while your family and friends are fading as they see you both retreating into darkness.'

He glanced at Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan was staring straight ahead, his piercing grey eyes furious and guilty at the same time. Elrohir had turned onto his side, facing the door. Both lay unmoving, silent, as though they did not even hear their father speaking.

He decided to cut his lecture short. 'I will come to you again this evening. In the meantime, prepare me an answer to this question: would your mother have been pleased with her sons' actions? Does your mother want you to avenge what happened to her so many years before?'

Without another word, Elrond swept out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

' _...Would your mother have been pleased with her sons' actions? Does your mother want you to avenge what happened to her so many years before?'_

Elladan and Elrohir no longer harboured conscious desires to leave to go to the Dúnedain. Indeed, they had forgotten that Arathorn was in Imladris, begging for assistance. All they thought of was what they were going to say to their father when he called on them that evening.

In honesty, they felt that their mother had not intended for them to take her departure this way. Of course, she knew that they would take as much guilt as they possibly could upon themselves, but she had never imagined that it would go this far. In other words, no, she did not want them to search for Orcs to kill, but they could find no other way to relieve the sense that they were drowning.

They felt as though they were drowning in the grief and guilt, in the horrific memories they had of seeing her, chained by her neck to the rocky wall of the cave, screaming and fitting in the healing ward, mistaking her own family for Orcs.

So it was that neither of them regretted killing the hateful creatures. Their hatred was slowly eating away at their ability to see good in anything, and to them, nearly everything was a case of 'It deserves to die,' or 'You are a foolish coward who cares for nothing but yourself.'

But the twins were loathe to admit that they were going against what they knew Celebrian would want, and so they decided to wriggle through the evening's conference and continue their morbid travels.

At least this was what Elladan intended to do. Elrohir had not moved from his position, and Elladan began to wonder if he were asleep.

'El?'

There was no answer.

'Elrohir.'

When his brother did not reply, Elladan glanced around to make sure there were no healers within sight. He slipped out of bed and padded over to Elrohir.

Elrohir had both arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen and his eyes were squeezed shut, though tears slid out from under them.

'Elrohir!' Elladan whispered hoarsely. His brother appeared to be in pain, but he himself felt nothing. He felt for his bond with his twin, and suddenly he knew why he had not been aware of his twin's emotions: Elrohir had completely blocked his bond and only he could remove the wall between their minds.

'Elrohir, are you in pain?' Elladan cried, getting worried. 'Tell me!'

Elrohir nodded his head against his pillow.

'I am getting Adar,' Elladan decided out loud. 'I will be back in a moment.'

Elladan left and Elrohir let out a moaning sob. The pain, seeming to originate in his stomach, sent fiery fingers of agony up and down throughout his whole body. Every few moments, especially severe pains would course through his body, leaving him gasping for air.

Elladan knew that Elrond would most likely be in his study, but when he knocked, there was no answer. Just to be sure, he opened the door and found the room deserted.

Next he went to the gardens. He hurried along the paths, asking wandering Elves whether they had seen the Elf lord. Finally he came upon Lindir.

'Lindir, have you seen Adar?' he asked breathlessly.

'Yes, he was in the courtyard going towards the barracks not ten minutes ago,' Lindir replied. 'Pardon my asking, Lord Elladan, but are you quite well?'

The exertion so soon after his body overcame the poison was beginning to show in Elladan's features. His face was pale and his breathing was strained.

'I am fine,' he said as he turned and went back down the garden paths towards the soldiers' barracks.

Supposing that Elrond had gone to the barracks which housed the warrior's under Glorfindel's command, Elladan went in that direction.

Sure enough, Elrond and Glorfindel were there, talking with a couple of the warriors Glorfindel had picked out.

'Adar!'

Elrond turned and frowned when he saw Elladan, who was leaning against the door and trying to catch his breath. 'What do you think you are doing out of bed already?' he scolded.

'El-Elrohir. He is in terrible pain,' Elladan gasped.

Elrond's eyes filled with concern and he glanced at Glorfindel in apology. 'Come on, then,' he said to Elladan as he passed him.

Soon they were back in the healing wing. Even when they were in the hallway, they could hear Elrohir crying in agony. Opening the door, they saw that two healers had already heard and were attempting to soothe him.

Elrond sat down on the edge of the bed, but when he reached out to touch Elrohir, his son shied away. 'Elrohir, what is wrong? Where is the pain?'

'A-all ov-ver, Adar,' gasped Elrohir, curling himself into fetal position as though it would minimise the pain.

'When did it start?'

'Right after you came to talk to us,' Elrohir said between sobs. 'It– it was not too bad at first, but th-then...' He stopped and tightened his arms around his abdomen. Drawing a deep breath, he continued, 'I cannot speak, A-Adar.'

'All right.' Elrond gently tried to pry Elrohir's arms away from his middle. He touched his mind to his son's. He, like Elladan, came against the wall.

 _Will you let me in, Elrohir?_ he asked.

Elrohir hesitated, then Elrond sensed as Elrohir opened his mind completely. Elrond cautiously explored it, calming Elrohir down as he did so.

 _What do you think is causing it, Elrohir?_

 _I-I do not know. You–_

 _Are you hiding something from me?_

 _Yes._

Elrond stopped probing and waited to see if Elrohir would continue on his own.

 _I think th-that there is still p-poison in me,_ his son finally said before he moaned aloud.

 _Do you mean to tell me that you have not felt 'fine,' no matter how many times you told me you did?_ Elrond asked in a chiding tone.

Elrohir could only nod as pain overwhelmed him again. _Every now and then, I-I would feel a dull ache in my stomach, but thought noth-nothing of it._

 _Why not?_

 _I told myself th-that it was just the medicine._ Another moan.

Elrond thought for a moment. _Uncurl yourself, Elrohir,_ he ordered. _It will help with the pain. Just lie flat and breathe deeply, all right?_

Elrohir did so,trying to regulate his breathing at the same time. Elladan sensed his struggle now that his twin's mind was open and, taking Elrohir's hand gently in his own, placed it against his chest. He breathed deeply, encouraging Elrohir to match his own pattern with Elladan's.

Elrond slipped from Elrohir's mind and left the beside to go to the connected herb room. Once there, he quickly selected several herbs from clear glass jars. Taking a small but heavy rock in his hand, he ground the herbs together and scraped the mixture into a glass. To this he added water and made his way back to the main room.

Elrohir was now breathing steadily and he did not seem to be in too much pain for the moment. His eyes were shut as he dozed. Elladan, however, was trembling and his face was a sickly grey hue.

'Elladan, you are not yet well enough to be up. You may return to your bed,' Elrond said. Seeing Elladan's hesitation, he added on, 'Elrohir will be fine. I believe that it is neither poison nor some illness.'

'Then what is it?' Elladan glanced down at his twin. Elrohir looked ill to him.

'It is the result of the special medication I gave him to fight the infection in his leg,' Elrond replied while patting Elrohir's cheek to wake him. 'Elrohir, can you drink this for me, please?'

Elladan forced himself to refrain from asking more until Elrohir had finished the whole cup of medicine and was falling asleep as a result of it.

'How is the medicine the cause of this?' Elladan finally asked.

'The herb is, obviously, a healing herb and so it remains in the body till the infection it was meant to help cure is mostly healed. But Elrohir's leg was greatly infected and it was not a small wound to begin with. As a result, I had to give him a greater amount of this particular herb, which in turn, since Elrohir's leg no longer needs herbs to heal, now causes severe stomach pains.'

Elladan swallowed hard. How did his father even remember all of this?

'Do not worry. The tea I just made him drink will cause him to be sick. Afterwards, though he may be confused, he will be mostly fine.' Elrond glanced at Elladan, who was getting ever paler. 'Now go lie down.'

Elladan obeyed and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Elrond took the opportunity to check Elrohir's leg and Elladan numerous smaller injuries. Both had recovered well from the poison and their wounds were healing well. Now it was only a matter of time before he would be forced to release them from the ward.

It was not long before Elrohir woke with a start and was violently sick to his stomach, emptying it completely of its contents. Afterwards, he did not wish to go back to sleep, but Elrond insisted.

'Do you feel alright now?' his father asked as he opened his mouth to protest.

Elrohir thought for a moment. 'Much better than before,' he finally said. He sat up as much as he could. 'In fact, I feel fine.'

Elrond knew exactly what his son was hinting at. 'I thought I made myself clear on that point,' he said sternly. 'You are remaining here until I permit you to leave. Is that understood?'

Elrohir sighed quietly. 'Yes Adar,' he replied softly.

'Very good, then; go to sleep or I shall be forced to put you into a drugged rest.' Elrond kissed the top of Elrohir's head and helped him lie down again.

He started to move away but stopped when his hand was grabbed. 'What is it?'

'What happened, Adar?' Elrohir asked. 'It felt as though I was being torn into pieces.'

Elrond glanced at Elladan, then back at Elrohir. 'That can be told later,' he said. 'It is already getting late. Go to sleep.'

'Adar, just tell me why it hurt so much!' Elrohir begged.

Elrond sighed. 'It was medicine, as you thought, but I had to use so much that I knew you would be sick when the herb was no longer needed to assist in your healing. Now good night.'

'Good night,' Elrohir mumbled. As usual, his father had known that he was not telling the truth when he said he felt fine. To be honest, he felt awful. His head was hammering and his stomach was empty, though he felt no pressing need to refill it.

However, the drugged water he had been forced to take was taking its toll on him. Slowly he allowed his eyes to drift shut as he wandered down the paths of dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

Arathorn and the twelve Elf-warriors left the next morning even as the sun began to tint the eastern sky pink.

Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor bid them farewell at the gates and watched as they rode off into the distance. All three were anxious about what would become of the Dúnedain come the winter season. As a result of the many surprise attacks on the villages by Orcs, the people had not been able to gather much food, and their fields had been destroyed. Now they faced severe hunger or – in some villages – starvation, unless the Orcs were somehow destroyed before long.

Three days later, Elrond released Elladan from the healing wing, but insisted that Elrohir remained so that he – Elrond – could be sure that he was healing properly. Needless to say, Elrohir was none too pleased at this announcement, but Elrond would not be swayed in his decision.

'I know exactly what you two plan to do as soon as you are both released, and I will not have you leave only to have you return dead because you were not well enough when you left. I will say no more.'

However, after only another two and a half days, Elrond was forced to admit that Elrohir was mostly fine and that he also could leave the healers' domain.

The next day, the twins had their steeds saddled, their weapons sharpened, and their packs filled. They rode out of Imladris just after the bell in the tower in the square struck noon. Neither of them observed their father watching them leave through his study window, nor how he hung his head in despair and sorrow as they disappeared.

That night they camped under the dark eaves of a forest about a six-hour ride from the Hidden Valley. They had been able to track the path of Arathorn and the Elves, but with difficulty. The Dunedain were almost as skilled as the Elves with hiding their tracks; even for the twins, it was no easy task to follow them.

The night passed, and the next day, not long before dusk, they came to the Dúnedain village. Four guards had been placed in such a way that they could each see two sides of the camp without being seen themselves. The camp was quiet when the twins rode in. Even the children were sitting still by the fire, playing in the dirt and watching their mothers prepare the evening meal.

Most of the men were sitting on fallen logs or tree stumps sharpening swords or fletching more arrows, but when Arathorn saw the new-comers, he rose to greet them. 'Welcome, Elrondionath,' he said, clasping arms with one twin, then the second. 'I am sure that you are weary and thirsty. Will you join me for a drink?' Arathorn seemed tense and he held himself stiffly, as though he were uncomfortable around the newcomers.

Elladan glanced at Elrohir, who shrugged. 'We will, Arathorn, gladly.'

As they drank – Arathorn beer, while the Elves took the liberty of helping themselves to some of the Elven-warriors' flasks of wine – they spoke.

By and by, the twins noticed a small curly brown peeping at them from around Arathorn. Elladan caught the hazel-coloured eyes for a moment and waved slightly. With a small gasp, the head disappeared behind Arathorn. A moment later, the twins' Elven ears picked up a hoarse whisper:

'Dada? Who be da ladies?'

The twins snorted loudly, trying to contain their laughter, while Arathorn went scarlet.

The child did not take his eyes off the brothers as Arathorn turned around, picked him up, and settled him on his lap.

'Mama says snorting is for men like Dada, not bred ladies.' The child's eyes were larger than saucers, but not for long.

Elladan, forgetting the goblet of wine in his hand, dropped it in his mirth.

'What is da matter?' whined the boy. 'Dey be laughing at me, Dada! Tell da ladies to stop!' As he finished speaking, he broke into loud sobs.

Instantly the twins sobered. 'Goheno ven, penneth, saes,' Elladan began. Then, realising the child could not understand him, he continued in the Common Tongue. 'Forgive us, little one, please. We did not mean to laugh.'

When the child continued wailing, Arathorn glanced towards the fire, where a young woman stood watching them slightly concerned.

'Go to Mama, Aragorn,' Arathorn whispered to the boy while setting him on the ground.

After Aragorn had stumbled across the ground into his mother's arms, Arathorn turned to the twins, who were again shaking with silent laughter.

'Bread... ladies?' Elrohir finally gasped out. 'Where did that come from?'

'He meant well-bred,' Arathorn replied. 'I do apologise for that, though.'

'There is no need, Arathorn. We took no offence. Has he not seen the warriors Adar sent?'

'Nay, they do not show themselves, and Aragorn was sleeping when we arrived. They have never seen Elves before. And to see two who are nearly identical before any others...'. He trailed off.

'We shall have to make up to him,' Elrohir observed. 'I am afraid that he is quite disgusted with us.'

'He is easily annoyed and easily consoled,' Arathorn replied, standing up and draining his cup. 'I shall find you some lodgings. How long were you thinking to stay?'

'A week, perhaps two,' Elladan answered. 'You shall not have much need for us now that you have the other twelve.'

'Maybe,' Arathorn said. 'But it is always good to have friends in difficult times.' With this, he turned and walked swiftly away, leaving the twins alone for a moment.

Sensing someone behind them, they turned and came face-to-face with Gilraen and her son. They bowed in Elven fashion.

'Lady Gilraen, it is a pleasure to see you again,' Elladan said graciously.

'The pleasure is mine, lord,' she said.

'Elladan,' the Elf insisted, smiling.

Gilraen ducked her head. 'It is all the same to me. If I call you both 'lord' I cannot make a mistake.'

Elladan and Elrohir laughed.

'If you would like,' Elladan said again. 'I can tell you how to keep us apart.'

'Elladan, stop it already!' Elrohir interrupted.

'Nay, it is only fair,' Elladan replied. 'Elrohir's ears are different shapes at the bottom.' He flicked some hair back from Elrohir's ears, who stood like an old mare, patiently putting up with some life-long trial. 'See? His right ear lobe is crinkled.' Dropping Elrohir's hair, he pushed back his own. 'Whereas, mine are perfect. Flawless!'

Gilraen laughed. Aragorn, standing beside her, did the same, mainly because of the pose that Elladan struck.

Elrohir crouched down so he was on eye-level with the child, who backed away a couple steps. 'Fear not, little one,' he said quietly. 'We are not here to harm your people, but to help them. We are your friends. I am Elrohir Elrondion, and this–' gesturing to Elladan, '–is my brother (Eru was not in a merciful mood so many years ago), Elladan.'

'Excuse me!' Elladan retorted. He knelt beside his brother, 'accidentally' bumping against his brother, who nearly fell sideways into the dirt. 'You must not believe what he says, Aragorn. He gets mixed up at times. I believe his age is finally catching up to him.'

Aragorn stared, his mouth slightly open. He glanced up at his mother for a moment, then returned his eyes to the twins.

Elrohir laughed. 'If my age is 'catching up to me,' as you put it, then yours must be also, since you are the elder. After all, we do every thing together, do we not?'

'Mama, dey be fightin'!' Aragorn cried in a high-pitched voice.

The Elves, remembering what had happened last time they laughed at the boy, managed to keep straight faces. 'Nay, Aragorn, do not think that. We bicker intolerably at times, but we are really the best of friends. Ignore us.'

Aragorn glared at them through lowered lids for a moment. He pointed to Elladan. 'What is your name?'

'Elladan. What is yours?'

'Ar'gorn. Me's two.' He switched his gaze to Elladan's brother. 'You Elr'hir, then. How old is you?'

Elrohir glanced at Elladan, then made some calculations on his fingers. 'Two thousand, eight hundred and one.'

The boy looked at them in awe. 'Mama be twenty-two.' The twins looked uncomfortable, but it seemed no response was expected of them. Instead, the child continued, 'How old is your mama?'

Gilraen stifled a gasp of surprise at the unexpected question and glanced at the twins to gauge their responses. Elladan's face was emotionless, and Elrohir had a sad smile playing around lips.

'Come, Estel, it is time to eat. You must be hungry after asking so many questions!' She glanced at the twins and mouthed, 'I am sorry.' Out loud, she added, 'Will you join us, Elrondionath? We have venison stew and potatoes.'

'We shall be glad to,' Elrohir replied quietly. 'Thank you.'

'It is nothing. Here comes Arathorn.'

Arathorn came up beside his wife placed a hand on her shoulder. 'The women asked me to tell you that the supper is ready. We had better eat quickly, for this one is getting sleepy.' He smiled at Aragorn, who had leaned his head on his mother's free shoulder.

Arathorn's family and the twins moved towards the fire and before long they, and all the other people, were enjoying a meagre meal of stew, potatoes, and fresh bread. They exchanged news of their families and the doings of their people.

Aragorn fell asleep halfway through supper and was brought to bed by Gilraen. Elladan, Elrohir, and Arathorn, now that the toddler was gone, turned to graver topics.

'Our scouts have brought us news of a small Orc band coming our way. We cannot outrun them, for they are swift and are running by day and night, heedless of the sun and moon. We are preparing to meet them within two days and give them battle.'

'How many men do you have here?' Elladan questioned.

'About fifty, not counting you and the other twelve your father sent.'

'About how many Orcs did the scouts count?' Elrohir asked.

'No less than ninety, they said. I do not know how accurate it was, though, since they were going into a cave when the scouts found them and counted.' Arathorn poured himself another mug of ale. 'Would you like more wine?'

Once the twins' glasses had been refilled, Arathorn continued speaking. 'We will prepare–'

Suddenly screams filled the air. Arathorn's brother-in-law ran up to them, stringing his bow. 'Arathorn, we are under attack! They have come upon us earlier than we expected!'

 **A/N:** Yay! A cliffie! And since I'm a shameless person, we begses you to read and review! *Puppy eyes* Pleeeeease?


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

Arathorn and the twins jumped up from their seats. 'Get the women and children to safety, Dírhael, and bar the door and windows with anything you can!'

The last woman was barely inside the largest, sturdiest house, when the huge brutes came stumbling into the glade, scimitars raised and mouths open in hoarse shouts of challenge.

Some of the Dúnedain and Elves held them at bay while the house was secured and guarded. The men were terribly outnumbered, however, and began to fall back against the overpowering foe. The Orcs reached the house. They sensed that it was being used to keep the women and children safe and so they placed their strength against it mainly.

Elladan and Elrohir had placed themselves on either side of the door. At first they used their bows, shooting with deadly precision. All too soon, they had no arrows left in the quivers and so they were forced to switch to swords.

They fought for nearly an hour. The Elves and Rangers were as determined as the Orcs, though, and they would not retreat. One by one the Orcs fell, slaughtered or mortally injured.

The last couple Orcs took flight, seeking to placed the trees between them and the Rangers. The Dunedain had been expecting such a move, and the Orcs had not reached the eaves of the forest before they were shot down by retrieved arrows.

The losses were few but heavily felt: three Elves and six Dúnedain. All nine were identified and their funeral pyres were prepared since there was no time to bury them.

'We must be off as soon as may be,' Arathorn decided. 'There may be more coming. It is unusual for them to travel by day and to be in such great numbers.'

After the warriors' ashes had been scattered and the camp dismantled, the dwindling, outcast group set off again. It was dark, and the children were tired and frightened. Women hushed their babies as best as they could, and the elderly and toddlers were pulled along in light carts.

They travelled through the night, Arathorn leading with Dírhael. The eleven remaining Elves took turns helping families with their burdens and pulling the carts.

At sunrise they stopped, some two leagues from where they had been attacked. While journeying, they had met no unpleasant obstacles, and so they were hoping that they had managed to lose any following Orcs.

They set up camp again and rested. Aragorn and the other young ones were sleeping soundly. All that day the Dúnedain kept quiet, remaining in their new camp and keeping careful watch for enemy movement. They knew that Orcs were watching the Misty Mountains, and yet there was no safer area for them to stay. They had managed to elude death and capture so far, so they trusted to luck and continued to live at the base of the mountains.

Three days passed uneventfully. New routines were settled into when, nearing afternoon of the fourth day, the feared hoarse cries burst out of the trees around them. More than a hundred Orcs poured into the camp, armed with arrows, daggers and swords. Two of the foremost Orcs, covered by their companions, hurled four bloody heads into the middle the camp. They had silently ambushed the four human guards, killing them instantly and cutting their heads from their necks.

The Dúnedain had no time to prepare. Grabbing whatever weapons lay near them, they fought back. Orc after Orc fell, but they always seemed to replaced by more.

The women and children were cut down as freely as were the men, and only a few managed to escape into the woods, pursued by the enemy.

Arrows whizzed through the air, thudding into Men, Elves, and Orcs. Swords whined as they sliced the atmosphere, and the groans of the wounded echoed off the surrounding rocks.

'Elladan, arrow!' Elrohir cried.

Elladan ducked, wincing as the arrow flew over his head – only to thud into the body of one behind him.

'No!' Elrohir cried, as he saw the one whom the arrow struck fall.

Elladan decapitated another Orc, then glanced behind him, blocking a blow that would have severed him in half.

It was Arathorn. The arrow that had been meant for Elladan had flown into the right eye of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, who now lay dead on the ground, the point of the arrow protruding from the back of his head. Blood covered his face, streaming down into his ears and open mouth, while his sightless eye was open in sudden shock. Dirt and more blood matted his hair, while his sword was still stuck in the Orc he had killed right before the arrow struck him.

As if in a dream, Elladan met Elrohir's eyes. Horror met horror, pain met pain, and guilt met grief. Suddenly Elrohir's eyes flew open even wider, and he shouted something. Elladan heard him, but he could not tell what it was that his twin was saying, and he found that he could not take his eyes off Elrohir as Elrohir charged towards him.

He felt a sudden stab of pain in his left leg as Elrohir ran up and shoved an Orc aside. His legs gave out from under him and he fell in a heap near Arathorn's feet.

Blackness overtook him and he knew no more.

Elrohir saw Elladan duck just in time, and the arrow sailed seemingly harmless over his brother's head. But then he noticed Arathorn standing only a few feet behind Elladan, about to deal a death-blow to one of the Orcs.

He opened his mouth to warn Arathorn, but all that came out was, 'No!'

Elladan stabbed another Orc, then turned about to follow Elrohir's gaze. There lay the chieftain of the Dúnedain, with an arrow protruding from his face.

Elrohir had met Elladan's gaze with steadily mounting horror. A moment later he saw an Orc rise up behind Elladan, ready to stab him in the back. He shouted a second warning but Elladan appeared not to understand. Elrohir lunged forward and sprinted towards the Orc. Barrelling into it, he knocked it to the side. The Orc's scimitar flew out of its hand and several inches sliced into Elladan's left calf.

Elladan collapsed and did not move. Elrohir, not knowing what to do even though he and Elladan had fought Orcs many times with just the two of them, placed one foot on either side of Elladan's still body and fought from that position. He had to be careful where he placed his feet, and this hampered his ability to spin. But Rangers had made a circle around their fallen leader and few Orcs were able to break through their guard.

Still, enough found a way through that Elrohir was kept busy. The Dunedain were greatly outnumbered but they were slowly gaining the upper-hand. The Rangers, filled with fury at the death of their leader, and with little hope that Arathorn's young son and wife had survived, refused to retreat. Because of this, the last Orc was soon beheaded.

Once the Rangers were sure that there were no other living Orcs in the area, they ran to their fallen comrades. Bodies of all three races were strewn over the battle field. There were twenty Rangers unscathed or with only minor injuries. Elrohir was the only Elf standing.

Arathorn was borne off the field, as were the other dead. Elrohir immediately knelt down beside his brother, and was greatly relieved to feel a strong heartbeat and pulse under his fingertips. Elladan was merely unconscious. He checked the wound on his brother's leg. It was nearly three inches deep and even now, thick yellow pus was beginning to flow from the already closing wound.

One of the Rangers brought a small handful of herbs, a cloth, and a small pot of water from a nearby stream. Nodding his thanks, Elrohir dipped the cloth into the water and started washing the wound. He already knew that the scimitar had been poisoned, so he worked quickly. Unfortunately, one of the poison's ways was to close the wound very quickly, so that it would take longer for the victim's blood to be purified, thus making the danger of death greater.

Elrohir grabbed a hunting knife from the sheath at his side, thrust it into a pot of boiling water to sterilize it, and carefully began to re-open the wound. The skin on and around the hole was sticky from the pus oozing out of it and wherever the knife cut, more of it came out, making it difficult for Elrohir to see what he was doing. Growling in frustration as he again dabbed at the pus with the cloth, Elrohir started as a light hand came down on his shoulder. He glanced up and his eyes widened.

'Aragorn!'

Elrohir glanced at where Arathorn's body had been but it had been removed. Inwardly sighing, he looked around, hoping to see Gilraen.

When his eyes finally landed on her, he saw she was at the other side of the camp, kneeling over a body which Elrohir immediately recognised as her husband. Slowly, she rocked back and forth, her face buried in her hands, but she made no sounds of distress.

'Him dead?' Aragorn whispered, pointing at Elladan.

'No,' Elrohir replied, tearing his gaze away from Arathorn and Gilraen. 'He is just hurt.'

Aragorn sat down beside him. Taking Elrohir's free arm, he hugged it to his chest. 'Dada be dead. A Orc hurt him, too.'

'I am sorry, little one.' Elrohir did not know what else to say. After all, he had never met such a perceptive two-year-old. 'Is your mama alright?'

'She be crying because Dada be dead.' He stood up, releasing Elrohir's arm. He glanced at the Elf and patted Elrohir's wet cheeks. 'You been crying too?'

'A little,' Elrohir admitted. 'I am very sad that you father is dead, and that Elladan is hurt.'

Aragorn stared at him solemnly as Elrohir went back to cleaning the wound. 'I will go to Mama now,' he stated after a moment. 'I hope your brother feels better soon.'

Elrohir smiled slightly as the toddler walked slowly back towards his mother. When he was nearly at his mother's side, he sat down suddenly. Picking something up, he called to Gilraen.

Gilraen slowly turned from her husband, then answered in a voice thick from tears. 'What is it, dear?'

'Dada's ring, Mama. I found it on da ground.' Gilraen stood and walked to her son. Taking the ring from his small fingers, she held it loosely between two fingers. 'The Ring of Barahir,' she murmured. 'It will be yours one day, my son.'

Days passed. Elladan's leg was not healing well. No matter how many times Elrohir drained it, it would not stop emitting pus and before long the skin around the pus-covered area was red and irritated.

He woke up several times over the next few days, but his mind was foggy and he remembered but little. He did not appear to recall the death of Arathorn.

Finally Elrohir consulted Dírhael, who was acting as leader of the Rangers.

'I can do nothing for him' fretted the younger twin. 'He grows weaker by the hour.'

'I am sorry, my friend. What do you wish to do?' Dírhael asked.

'I must take him back to Imladris,' Elrohir decided. 'And there is another thing.'

'Yes?'

'I think I should ask Gilraen if she and Aragorn will accompany me – us.' Elrohir inwardly prepared for the verbal storm he knew was coming within seconds.

'Gilraen? To Imladris?' Dírhael inquired in shock, which soon turned to anger. 'Are you suggesting that the Lady and her son are not safe here with us?'

Elrohir shook his head. 'Not at all,' he defended himself. 'But it is true: Aragorn's life is in great danger. He is the heir of Isildur now, though the servants of Sauron may not know that. Let others think that the line has died with Arathorn.'

'But in Imladris?' Dírhael was sceptical. 'Why not Gondor or one of his future realms?'

'If he is found, he shall have no future realms,' Elrohir reasoned. 'Sauron does not know where the Hidden Valley is. There is no safer place in Arda. Besides, you know that Elrond, my father, has fostered the heirs of Isildur for years.'

'I do not know,' Dírhael said doubtfully. 'It is a long journey for a woman, a child, and an injuried Elf, with but one to guard them all.'

'It is a chance that we must take if Elladan's life is to be saved,' Elrohir said softly.

Dírhael sighed in defeat. 'Very well, ask my daughter. But do nothing to try to make her choose one way or the other.'

'You have my word.' Elrohir left the tent, eager to return to his twin and speak to Gilraen.

Gilraen, tired from trying to raise her young son while constantly running from Orcs, did not take long to decide. 'We shall go with you,' she said while helping Elrohir to tend to Elladan. 'It will be better if people think that the line has ended.'

Elrohir bowed his head, hoping to hide the relief in his eyes. 'It shall be as you wish, my lady.'

 **TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V**

Plans were made and it was decided that Elrohir, Elladan, Gilraen and Aragorn would leave the next morning. With them would go three other Rangers, for Dírhael was not easy with the thought of only Elrohir being able to ward off an attack.

The morrow dawned bright and clear. They left soon after sun-up, Aragorn sleeping in the basket Gilraen had fastened to her back. Elrohir and one of the Rangers carried the bier which held Elladan, while the other two men were constantly on guard, ready to defend Gilraen and her son at a moment's notice if need be.

To their relief, nothing happened all that day except that Elladan got steadily worse. His fever was high and he murmured incoherently in his sleep. His leg was swollen and hot to the touch. Elrohir insisted on stopping every-so-often so that he could drain it and try to bring down the fever. But nothing seemed to work, and they were yet a week away from Imladris.

They made better time that Elrohir had expected they would, for the Rangers had found hidden but wide trails for them. By the first night, they had come nearly two leagues.

Several times, they were nearly discovered by passing bands of Orcs but when Elrohir caught sound of their harsh, guttural language, they simply hid a ways from the path. It was a large, healthy forest: trees, bushes, flowers, berry patches... In the warm weather, the aroma of all the growing plants smothered the travellers' scents.

The fifth day dawned. They were still in the mountains, but Elrohir figured it would not be more than three days if their luck held out before they arrived in Imladris. It would not be a day too soon. Gilraen was weary with grief and shock. Aragorn was always grumpy and Elladan...

Elladan was barely alive. His fever, though it had thankfully stopped rising, was dangerously high, his leg was infected and his breathing was laboured. Elrohir was afraid that they would reach Elrond only to find that Elrond was unable to save Elladan. Or that, though he could save Elladan's life, Elladan would lose his leg and be a crippled for the rest of his life.

Quickly he banished the morose thoughts from his mind. Apparently thinking did not help.

That night all was dark. There was no moon and the stars were veiled by menacing storm clouds.

'Perfect time for a surprise attack,' one of the men grumbled.

'We would be wise to look for a place to shelter,' said Gilraen. 'It will not be good for your brother or Aragorn to get wet.'

Elrohir agreed. 'We should not trust a cave, though,' he said as his eyes grew dark with memory. 'Most of them around here are infested by Orcs.'

'Where then?' one of the men asked. 'We are not Elves, we cannot sleep in trees.'

'You might be surprised,' Elrohir replied. 'Let us try it.'

'What of Elladan, though?' Gilraen inquired, glancing at the bier.

Elrohir frowned. 'We cannot get it into–' He broke off suddenly and glanced upwards, then finished his sentence. '–the trees!'

Quickly he stepped around his brother and moved to a tree wide of trunk and thickly covered with leaves and foliage. Placing his hand against it, he closed his eyes.

 _Please,_ he began hesitantly. He had never done this before, only watched his grandfather. _If you can hear me, please help us! Your leaves will shield us from rain and the enemy. My brother will surely die if we do not find a place to stay out of the weather. Will you not help us?_

All he got in reply was a low groan. The Rangers and Gilraen, hearing it, stepped back, wondering what was happening.

He removed his hand in desperation and muttered, 'How do they do it, anyways?' in Sindarin. Then he jumped as he felt something brush his arm. Glancing down, he saw it was a tree branch. He, with hope renewed, again moved to the trunk of the tree.

 _Will you help us?_ he asked a second time.

Another groan. Then a voice spoke inside his head. _Your plight is great. I shall help. What do you wish me to do?_

Elrohir's face lit up with the first smile the others had seen in days. _Can you hold the bier safely until the morning, or until the rain has passed? And..._

He slowed to a stop, not wanting to ask too much.

 _And...?_ the tree continued.

 _And can you make sure the Rangers do not slip off in the middle of the night?_

The tree rumbled in laughter. _Very well, young one. I shall do as you ask._

 _Thank you!_ Elrohir replied, greatly relieved. Stepping back, he bowed to the tree, inclining his head and putting his right hand over his heart.

He turned to the others. 'The tree has agreed to help us tonight,' he announced. 'He has promised to make sure you do not fall out.'

'But what of the bier?' one of the men asked again. 'Surely that cannot go up.'

'It can and it will,' retorted Elrohir. 'Here, help me lift it.'

The man grudgingly went to the other end and lifted it. Even as they did so, two thick branches bent down to the ground, ready to receive the burden. As the humans stared in surprise, Elrohir and the man placed the bier securely on the branches. All five watched as the ends of the branches curled up and around the makeshift bed, making sure the wounded Elf would not roll off if the bier shifted.

Slowly the branches returned to their normal position. Elrohir turned to Gilraen.

'If you would like, lady, I can take the child while you climb up. It would be safer than trying to manoeuvre the basket passed all the branches.

Gilraen considered for a moment. 'Are you sure you can get up yourself safely?'

'I am completely sure. I have done it before. Only then I was holding two infants.' Elrohir smiled slightly.

Gilraen gave a short laugh at the mental picture that came to her mind. 'Very well,' she finally said. 'I hold you responsible for any scratches that he may attain.'

'There shall be none,' Elrohir assured her. Going over to her, he gently took the sleeping toddler out of the basket and led the child's mother over to the base of the trunk. 'Simply climb the easiest way until the tree stops you.'

' _Stops_ me? How does that work?' Gilraen inquired suspiciously.

'You have nothing to fear, I swear. If the tree wants you to stay where you are, he will either move his branches in such a way that you cannot move any farther, or he will wrap a young branch around your arm or waist.'

Gilraen did not look enthusiastic, so Elrohir continued, 'I can go first, if you would like. You will see.'

Gilraen stepped back, looking anxiously from her baby to the tree and back. 'Be careful, please,' she said softly. 'He is all I have left.'

Elrohir nodded and, with Aragorn held snugly against his chest, he began climbing. The branches shifted to help him when he could not manage with just one hand. Before long, he had reached an area right beside Elladan's bier when suddenly the nearest branch was about four feet above his head. He turned to lean against the trunk so that he could safely look down to Gilraen.

'See?'

Gilraen nodded and started up. She climbed in the direction of Elrohir, intent on reaching her son as soon as possible. Sure enough, when she was about a foot away from the younger twin, she found it was impossible to move up or down because of the slender, flexible branch that she found twined around her middle.

Sitting down on the only branch possible, she smiled at Elrohir, who had also settled down on a limb. 'That was simple. Thank you for taking Aragorn.'

Handing the boy to his mother, Elrohir shook his head. 'It was nothing. The tree helped me where my arm could not.'

Aragorn was beginning to stir. He removed the thumb that had been securely placed in his mouth and his eyes slowly opened.

'Ma-ma?' he asked in a hoarse voice. His eyes got wider and wider as he took in his green surroundings.

'Yes, baby. Mama. Are you hungry?' Gilraen ran her fingers through his hazel-coloured hair.

He placed his hands on his stomach. 'Hungy,' he agreed. A moment later he removed one hand and waved it around. 'Tree?'

'Aye,' Gilraen replied, giving a sad smile. 'We are in a tree.'

By this time, the three Rangers had joined them, and were settling themselves on their assigned branches, not far from the twins and Gilraen and Estel.

Even as they spoke, a cool breeze began to stir the trees, bringing with it the sweet odour of coming rain.

Gilraen dug into the bag that hung at her side and pulled out a loaf of bread. She broke off the end and handed it to Aragorn. 'Here you go. Eat it slowly.' She glanced at Elrohir and the three men. 'Would you like some?'

Elrohir hastily shook his head. 'Not I, thank you. Keep it for the little one.'

The other Rangers also declined. 'The food your father provided us with should keep us until we arrive in the Valley.'

 _Will we ever reach the Valley?_ Elrohir silently wondered. He glanced at Elladan. _And how many of us will be living when we get there?_

From his place in the tree, he could easily reach his brother, and now he took hold of his hand. It was completely dry.

Pulling his water skin from his pack, he dribbled some slowly into Elladan's mouth, feeling his forehead at the same time.

'I cannot _do_ anything for him,' he muttered aloud. 'All I can do is sit and watch while he gets closer and closer to death.'

'Have faith, my lord,' Gilraen said quietly. 'It is well that you are here, for I fear that he would not have survived this long if he had been alone.'

'We should have left directly after the battle, we–' He glanced at Gilraen. 'Forgive me, Gilraen, I forget that I am not the only one who is losing – has lost – one that I love. You have been so calm and quiet.'

'You have lost so much more than I have,' she said simply. 'Your family has suffered almost constantly since your father was a babe.'

Elrohir thought for a moment, knowing Gilraen was correct. His father had lost his mother and father as an infant, his twin brother when he was barely past nine hundred years, his second father, Gil-galad had died brutally before his very eyes during the Last Alliance, his wife had sailed not four hundred and fifty years before, and now his heir was lying on the brink of death – in a tree.

Elrohir laughed bitterly. _An odd place to die,_ he reflected. _I am not sure if Elladan would like it._ He turned suddenly to the bier and placed his hands on Elladan's forehead and heart. Pushing his energy forcefully into his twin, he insisted, _Live, Elladan! Are you actually going to make me tell Adar that you were so foolish that you let a little slice to your leg kill you?_

To his utmost surprise, Elladan's eyes cracked open.

'Elladan?' Elrohir gasped.

Elladan, thanks to the drops of water which Elrohir had given him, opened his mouth long enough to rasp, 'No,' before closing his eyes in exhaustion.

''No' what?' Elrohir asked, confused.

Elladan forced his lips apart again. 'Not...going...to die.'

Elrohir choked on something halfway between a laugh and a sob. 'You heard me?' But Elladan's eyes had closed again and his breathing, strained as it was, indicated that he had again fallen asleep.

'El'hir! El'hir!' cried Aragorn. 'Hold me! Me want to see 'Adan!'

Gilraen shushed him. 'No, Aragorn, Elrohir is busy. He cannot hold you right now.'

Elrohir turned from Elladan for a moment. 'It is alright,' he offered. 'He is asleep again, I think. But at least we know that he is not in a coma.'

'Please, Mama?' begged the two-year-old.

'Well... I suppose. You sit still,' she admonished as she handed the wiggly boy to Elrohir, who wrapped his arm around him securely.

Aragorn looked up at the Elf's face. To his shock, it had tears on it. 'El'hir, do not cry. 'Adan will be alright. He sayed he would. I fink he be hungy, though.'

Elrohir laughed through his tears. 'I think he just wants to rest, tithen pen. But thank you for you advice.'

'What does tiven-pen mean?' the child inquired.

'You are inquisitive! It means 'little one,'' Elrohir explained.

Immediately the boy's indignation showed. 'I no be yittle!' he cried. 'I be big, Mama says so! She calls me her big warrior!'

Gilraen blushed, smiling as she did so.

Elrohir raised his free hand in a gesture of defeat. 'All right! Forgive me. I am too used to it, I suppose.'

'Why would you be? You be big, too!' Aragorn inquired.

'Nonetheless, I am 'títhen-penned' at least three times every week by my father and his circle of friends.' Elrohir put a long-suffering look on his face, causing the boy to laugh.

Aragorn nodded happily, pleased that he had learned a new phrase. 'Tiven-pen.'

 **TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Sorry it has taken me so long to update. This chapter had many problems that were determined not to be worked out. Italics are flashbacks obviously. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Not long after, Aragorn dropped off to sleep in Elrohir's arms and Elrohir helped Gilraen place him back in the basket.

Then it began to rain. At first it was a light, warm rain, but before ten minutes had passed it had turned into a great storm, falling fast and heavy. Lighting flashed in the dimness of the woods, thunder roared, and the wind blew in strong gusts. The tree, however, remembered the injured Elf and the child it held and made a roof over them with its leaves.

Elladan did not stir. His condition had not improved as Elrohir had hoped it would when he woke up lucid. His fever was as high as it had been before, and his breathing still rattled in his chest.

Aragorn dozed, waking whenever the thunder grew too loud. Gilraen was forced to take him out of the basket to comfort and reassure him. Every once in a while, Elrohir would take the toddler and hold him while Gilraen slept.

The storm lasted for nearly two hours. The travellers were weary and cramped. Their clothes were slightly damp from the rain that had managed to drip or blow through the protecting roof of leaves.

At the moment, Elrohir had the sleeping toddler in his arms. He glanced at Gilraen and saw that she also was asleep. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, he let his thoughts drift. Suddenly he was back in Imladris with his brother, as wild and healthy as always.

 _They were in the family's private gardens, playing in the bushes and trees, racing each other through the twining paths between rose bushes and tulips. Suddenly Elladan stopped and caught his brother's arm. Elrohir also stopped and turned to Elladan questioningly._

 _Elladan turned a cartwheel._

 _Elrohir made a perfect handstand._

 _Elladan somersaulted a ways down the path._

 _Elrohir walked on his hands for seven steps._

 _A ways away, were Elrond and Celebrian, watching their sons play from the shade of a beautiful tree. An unspoken communication passed through both the twins and each dashed to opposite sides of the path and picked three flowers each._

 _Returning to the path, they ran down to their parents and presented the two small bouquets to their mother._

 _Taking the flowers, Celebrian laughed, delighted, and kissed the small, upturned faces. The twins then turned to regard their father and the next moment they were a ways down the path again, this time in the direction of the pond._

 _Reaching their destination, the twins searched for fifteen minutes, until they each had a handful of beautiful and unique pebbles and stones._

 _They ran for their parents again and laid their 'treasures' in their father's lap. Elrond examined each of the rocks and, when asked by Elladan which was his favourite, he replied that they were all equal, for he knew well the difficulties of dealing with a jealous child._

 _Upon hearing this, the twins smiled happily and returned to their contests._

A second scene began to play through Elrohir's mind as he sat motionless in the tree.

 _The sun was barely showing her face over the tips of the mountains before Elladan was up out of bed._

 _'El, wake up!' he shouted excitedly, shaking his brother all the while. 'El, it is our birthday! Today we are twenty-nine!'_

 _Elrohir awoke and immediately jumped up as well. 'Maybe today we will get out swords!' he exclaimed. 'Let us get dressed!'_

 _The two twenty-nine-year-olds ran to their parents room. Beating on the door, they cried, 'Ada! Nana! It is our birthday!'_

 _The only answer was a moan from behind the door._

 _Elrohir glanced at Elladan and saw the nod of agreement. Pushing open the door, they softly padded inside, careful not to wake their parents._

 _Elladan went to Elrond's side of the bed, while Elrohir took Celebrían's. Meeting each other's eyes for a moment, they opened their mouths and –_

 _'Ada!'_

 _'Nana!'_

 _Two strident young voices yelled at the top of their lungs at the same time. Ada and Nana leapt to sitting positions, Nana with a yelp, while Ada instinctively reached for the dagger that Elladan had thoughtfully removed from the bedside table._

 _'I have it,' he said reassuringly. 'It is our birthday, and I did not want to get killed. You can have it back now.'_

 _Elladan handed the hilt to his speechless parent._

 _Celebrian, when she realised what had happened, hid her face in her hands and dissolved into helpless giggles, even as doors began to slam down the hallways and hushed whispers began to sound in the echoing hallway._

 _Elrond, however, was not amused. 'Elladan and Elrohir, that is highly unfit behaviour for young Elven Lords, especially when they are celebrating their twenty-ninth birthdays.'_

 _Elladan and Elrohir hung their heads._

 _'We are sorry, Ada,' Elrohir finally said. 'But at least we knocked before coming in,' he added on, hoping to lighten the sentence which was no doubt about to crash down on their shoulders._

 _Elrond could not take the sight of his wife any longer. Fighting back to urge to laugh for just a moment longer, he said sternly, 'Since it is your birthday today, I shall not punish you. But see that it does not happen a second time.'_

 _Ending his lecture with this ominous (though almost certainly empty) threat, Elrond started laughing. Reaching down, he pulled Elladan onto the bed and sat him in front of him, while Celebrian did the same to Elrohir._

 _The twins, seeing their parents' mirth, began to laugh as well. As the scene replayed through their minds, they saw how amusing it actually had been – after their parents had recognised them._

 _Finally they calmed down and caught their breath. Celebrian turned Elrohir around to face her and kissed his forehead. 'Happy birthday, darling.'_

 _Elrohir kissed his mother and endured the same treatment from his father. Elladan did likewise._

Elrohir smiled as he remembered. That had been one of their favourite birthdays: they had received their first swords, Glorfindel's gift had been their first lessons with the new weapons, and they were each given a pony. The twins named their ponies immediately, but they would tell no one but each other what the ponies' names were.

Again he was lost in memories of the same day.

 _Their parents and teachers knew that there was a reason for this, but they could not figure it out. As a result, all of them were wary around the two._

 _Finally that evening at supper, it had come out. Elrohir began with:_

 _'Nana, guess what Glorfy did today?'_

 _Glorfindel, assuming the twin was referring to their first lesson, smiled._

 _Celebrian smiled knowingly. 'What?'_

 _Elrohir continued in a hoarse whisper. 'He tied me to Gether.'_

 _'He tied you to what?' Celebrian asked, confused._

 _Celebrian looked to the equally confused Glorfindel for an explanation. 'Did Elrohir get hurt somehow?'_

 _'Not as far as I know,' Glorfindel answered slowly._

 _'Then why would he say you tied him together?' Elrond asked, running his eyes worriedly over his son._

 _Glorfindel shrugged helplessly. 'I do not know.'_

 _'Oh, yes you do, Glorfy!' Elrohir cried. 'You tied me to Gether!'_

 _Here Elladan broke in. 'And Ada, he is threatening to tie me to Morrow!'_

 _'Why not today?' Elrond asked in confusion._

 _'To Day?' Elladan asked innocently. 'He said he would tie me to Morrow, but I would not let him!'_

 _There was a noise from Glorfindel's spot as he choked on his whine. 'I know,' he burst out. 'I am not sure how many times they have named and renamed their ponies throughout the day, but I believe that they chose the names Gether and Morrow for this very purpose.'_

 _Celebrian and Elrond were silent as they thought it out. 'Morrow and Gether,' Celebrian finally intoned. 'What will they think of next?'_

 _The sighs the husband and wife emitted were loud enough that they would have been audible, were it not for the noise of the twins' laughter._

 _'We got all three of you!' Elladan crowed.'_

 _'You did not suspect a thing until Glorfy finally caught on!' Elrohir finished triumphantly._

They had been able to trick their suffering elders several more times in such a way, but neither of them ever woke their parents the way they had so many years before. They had never quite managed to figure out whether or not their father was serious about the threatened punishments.

Again a smile lit up Elrohir's all-too-serious face. How he wished that those years could continue on forever.

He was brought back to the future by a quiet smacking sound. Looking down, he saw that Aragorn had awoken and was now sucking his thumb while thoughtfully looking up at him. When the child saw Elrohir watching him, he removed his thumb. Wisely batting his eyelids, he asked, 'You finking?'

Elrohir chuckled quietly. Aragorn no longer seemed to be afraid of the storm, for he hardly started when the thunder crashed around them. 'I was _thinking_ ,' he replied, stressing the correct pronunciation of the last word.

Aragorn nodded, then glanced at his sleeping mother. 'Can you tell me a story? That is what Mama and Dada did during funder storms.'

The younger son of Elrond shook his head in exasperation. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'It was early in the morning of our twenty-ninth birthday...'

 **TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

Finally the weather cleared up and the travellers deemed it safe enough to continue their journey. Carefully they climbed out of the tree and received the bier the same way they had seen it taken into the tree.

They travelled as quickly as they could, eating sparingly of their rations, for they had another one and a half days at least.

Fortunately for them, there were no enemies to be seen. Though relieved that they did not have to fight, the men and Elrohir were anxious and confused. Orcs were not known to be generally intelligent, but why should they have come upon so few signs of the ugly creatures?

The weather was clement and so they walked for as long as they could before resting for the night. For this reason, the next day, it only took three hours to reach the borders of Imladris instead of the expected seven or eight.

Earlier, Elladan had stopped breathing for a moment. The men had looked on, horrified, as Elladan's lips turned blue and his face went even whiter than it had already been. Elrohir had been afraid to break their connection and had taken it upon himself to carry the older twin the rest of the way. They discarded the bier.

Elrohir was on the verge of collapse when they heard the sound of galloping hooves and six horsemen, Glorfindel at the head, appeared on the edge of the surrounding forest.

As the Elves rode up, the Dúnedain sheathed their swords. Glorfindel leapt off Asfaloth before the great stallion had stopped and was beside the twins in an instant.

'Glorfindel...' Elrohir muttered. 'El stopped... breathing.'

'Elvrannon, take Elladan on your horse. I will take Elrohir. He can tell me what happened on the way,' Glorfindel ordered in a clipped tone.

But when Elvrannon tried to take the unconscious Elf from Elrohir, the twin somehow managed to find the strength to bring back his foot and land a well-aimed kick on the well-meaning Elf's shin.

As Elvrannon yelped in surprise, Elrohir explained weakly, 'I will take him. He cannot leave me.'

'Elrohir, he must. You will not be able to go on this way. You also will collapse,' Glorfindel insisted.

'Then I will ride,' Elrohir answered weakly.

'Blast the Peredhil for their blasted stubbornness,' muttered the Captain. 'There is no extra horse.'

'Asfaloth.'

'But he is my horse!' Glorfindel cried.

'You walk. Asfaloth will not let us fall. Lead the... Rangers.' Elrohir was quickly losing his strength.

'Oh, very well,' Glorfindel finally agreed, knowing well that Elrohir would collapse before he gave up. 'Let me at least take Elladan while you mount.'

Reluctantly, Elrohir handed his brother to Glorfindel while he slowly pulled himself into Asfaloth's saddle. Reaching out for Elladan, he very nearly toppled over, but Asfaloth moved to the side quickly, causing him to lean the other way and regain his balance.

'Asfaloth, noro lim,' Glorfindel murmured to his great horse, before turning to the remaining five riders. 'Watch them well. I shall follow on foot with our guests.'

The other horses and their riders formed a protective circle around the Master of Imladris' two sons and they cantered off at an easy pace.

'What happened?' Glorfindel asked one of the men.

'Lord Elladan was injured in an ambush – Lord Arathorn was taken by an arrow through the eye. Lord Elladan's leg will not heal; it is terribly infected and earlier today he stopped breathing. His brother managed to save him, but now, while Elladan is stronger than he was before, Elrohir is on the point of collapse,' the Ranger replied.

Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully, hiding his anxiety behind a emotionless mask.

'Is it just coincidence that you came upon us at the right moment?' Gilraen asked suddenly.

'No, not really,' Glorfindel replied, glancing at her. 'Lord Elrond sensed when his sons entered Imladris, but he could tell that one or both of them were in danger of death. So he sent us out to find them and bring them back to the house.'

'I see.' Gilraen glanced at the child in her arms. Aragorn had been sleeping peacefully, but he was waking now.

'Mama?' he croaked.

'Yes, darling, it is Mama. Lord Glorfindel, this is my son, Aragorn. He is two years old.' As she looked at the chubby baby face, her eyes filled with tears.

'Please accept my deepest sympathy, Lady. Your husband was held in high esteem here in the Valley. You shall not mourn alone,' Glorfindel assured her gently.

'Elrohir has brought us here to keep the Heir of Isildur sheltered,' she explained in a shaky voice. Now that she knew they were safe, she was losing control over her emotions. Grief tightened in her chest, making it feel as though it were about to burst, fatigue caused her brain to feel fuzzy and hunger made her feel faint. she had been giving most of her food to her son, while making sure that the others did not notice.

'Lady Gilraen!'

She started, the sudden motion clearing her head somewhat. 'I am sorry, I am just tired.'

'Can you walk?' Glorfindel asked, concerned.

'I think I shall have to,' she said, smiling slightly. 'I see no horse.'

'Very well. Let us be off, then.' Glorfindel turned to face the direction the horses had gone in. 'The sooner we leave, the sooner we will get to the House. There you shall find food, rest, and comfort.' He paused for a moment. 'Do you want me to carry Aragorn for a while? Truly, Lady, you look exhausted.'

'Thank you,' Gilraen murmured, not alert enough to be wary of the great Elf. 'He gets very heavy, and he will not be calm in the basket.'

After the child was in the Captain of Imladris' arms, they set off at a steady pace towards the House.

* * *

Meanwhile, Elrohir swayed in the saddle. It took a mere half hour to reach the House from the borders when one was riding, but Asfaloth refused to go faster than a trot with his burdens, and so it took closer to an hour.

Elrond saw the small party of horses coming from a balcony. The sight, though it worried him, did not surprise him greatly: one twin riding, with the other lying limply in front of him. Quickly he made his way to the front steps and was just in time to see the horses stop at the bottom of the stairs.

The twin sitting was Elrohir, but he looked like he was in as bad shape as was his twin. And he was riding Asfaloth. That meant that Glorfindel had stayed behind. But why? What had Glorfindel been thinking when he let Elrohir carry his brother back? Most times Glorfindel knew enough to split them up when they were in conditions like these.

He smothered a cry when Elrohir dismounted and pulled his brother off the stallion, only to land in a heap on the cobblestones, Elladan's weight too much for him. Their fall was broken by one of the Elves, who, with his well-honed reflexes, threw his arms around Elrohir and kept him from banging both their heads on the stones.

'Why are they riding together?' Elrond cried as he ran towards them.

Elvrannon, the one who had broken the twins' fall, replied. 'The Captain tried to separate them, my Lord, but Elrohir would have none of it. Apparently, Elladan...'

'What? What about Elladan?' Elrond snapped while picking the Elf in question up off the ground.

Elvrannon continued quietly. 'He stopped breathing, Master Elrond. Elrohir managed to start him again, but he kept giving Elladan his own energy. Glorfindel is back with the Lady Gilraen and the Rangers.'

 _Gilraen? What about Arathorn?_ 'Take Elrohir and follow me,' Elrond ordered sharply. He turned to the remaining Elves. 'Ride back to Glorfindel. Bring extra horses for the guests.'

A couple of Elves ran towards the stables to get a two more horses while Elrond and Elvrannon made their ways inside to the healing wing.

On the way down the halls, Elrohir stirred. Cracking his eyes open, he smiled as he recognised his home. 'E-Elvrannon...' he muttered. 'El-ladan?'

'He is right in front of you. Your father has him. He will be fine,' the Elf reassured. 'Just rest.'

They reached the healing rooms and before long the twins were deposited in two beds. Elrond came towards Elrohir, now knowing what Elladan's situation was, and wanting to gauge Elrohir's.

'Adar...'

'Elrohir, what happened?' Elrond asked, kneeling down beside the bed.

'Elladan needs help, Adar,' Elrohir whispered. 'Leg... badly infected...' He half sat up and suddenly his glazed eyes searched the room frantically. 'Gil-Gilraen... Arathorn is d-dead!'

Elrond nodded, gently pushing Elrohir down to lie flat. 'Do not let that worry you. You must get better, or Elladan will die.'

'He promised...' Elrohir trailed off.

'Who promised? Elladan?' Elrond questioned.

'Ladan... told me in the tree... he would not d-die. But he will! He is dying right n-now!' Elrohir cried. 'He–'

'Hush. Try to sleep; I will go to Elladan.' Elrond kissed Elrohir's hot, dry forehead and moved to the other bed.

He uncovered the injured limb, removing the boot and cutting away the leggings from the knee down. When he saw the leg, he closed his eyes in horror.

It was bright red, the wound was oozing pus and...

The worst part were the small black lines spreading in all directions from the wound. Hardly daring to breathe, Elrond took a small scalpel, and lanced a small blister that sat next to the wound.

It was as he had feared. Pus flowed forth in spurts, but dotting the oozing liquid were small black spots.

The poison which had damaged Celebrían's body to the point of fading, causing her to sail, was now attacking Elladan's body with its vicious symptoms.

So many years ago... but he still dreamed of it so often and so vividly. The dream was nearly a reality again. Arador had managed to save her life then, but now the Heir was a two-year-old baby, unable to pronounce his s's. No help would come from the Dúnedain this time.

There was no time to lose. He had to find the antidote, and quickly. Elrohir could not help him, but he had other apprentices who would be able to look through books for him.

Ringing a bell, he was relieved when two healers appeared immediately in the room. 'I have seen this poison but once before,' he said in a strained voice. 'I do not know the antidote. The poison took his mother from us. I will not allow it to take my sons, too. _Find it._ '

The healers left and Elrond turned to the storage room, meaning to make a poultice to try to reduce the swelling. _Perhaos, with any luck, Elladan's case will be lighter than Celebrian's,_ he thought hopefully. _At any rate, he has surely not had it in his system for as long as she did._

When he returned with the poultice, he was startled to find Elrohir's bed empty. Glancing around the room, his eyes alighted on Elladan's bed, where both twins were lying now, one unconscious while the other held his hand and stared at him unseeingly.

Elrond placed the poultice on Elladan's leg. 'How did you manage to walk here by yourself? You appear to be as weak as a babe.'

Elrohir shook his head. 'I have to s-stay with him,' he muttered. 'How is his leg?'

Elrond sighed. 'See for yourself.'

Rising with his father's help, Elrohir's brow creased as he recognised the ugly wound despite his feverish frame of mind. 'That looks like Naneth's arm did,' he murmured. Suddenly he realised what his statement meant. 'It is the same poison!'

Elrond nodded. 'It is. I sent healers not ten minutes ago to find the antidote.'

'But you could not find it for Naneth!' Elrohir cried. 'Arador healed her. But Arador the First and Arathornare both dead, and Aragorn is too young.'

'Yes, but your mother had it in her for who knows how long, and her body was already severely weakened from... what happened before you rescued her,' Elrond reasoned. 'When was Elladan injured?'

'Twelve days ago, I think.' Elrohir closed his eyes as he remembered. 'We were in the middle of an unexpected skirmish when I saw an archer aiming for Elladan. I warned him and went for the Orc but it was too late. Elladan ducked, and the arrow sailed harmlessly over his head.' Here Elrohir laughed bitterly, opening his eyes. 'Arathorn must have turned at my cry because the next thing I knew, he was lying there with the same arrow through his eye.'

Elrond had momentarily stopped working to bring Elladan's fever down and was now staring at Elrohir, morbidly fascinated. 'How was Elladan harmed, then?'

Elrohir drew in a shaky breath. 'A second Orc came up behind him. Again I warned him, but he did not move. So I ran towards them but the Orc was too close... when I killed it, its scimitar flew out of its hand and cut Ladan's leg.'

'And has he woken up?' Elrond questioned, returning his attention to Elladan.

'A few times, while we were in the Dunedain camp. Other than that, just once, when we were in the tree,' Elrohir said softly. He was swiftly losing energy from talking so much.

'What tree?' his father asked.

'It was about to storm... caves were dangerous... Orcs... I... asked the tree... to help,' Elrohir gasped. His eyes slowly slipped shut and he drifted into a troubled sleep.

Elrond, upon seeing that Elrohir was asleep, turned all his attention on his unconscious son. Placing his hand over Elladan's heart, he concentrated on transferring some of his own energy into Elladan. While doing so, he took care to show his presence to Elladan's wandering mind.

He could sense very little more than pain in Elladan. Nonetheless, he found that in a small corner of Elladan's brain, there was _something._ He could not figure out what. Pain and something.

 _Elladan._

No response.

 _Elladan, where are you?'_ Elrond waited hopefully for a reply.

At last one came. It was so very soft Elrond could hardly feel it, and it was but one word. _Elrohir?_

 _No, not Elrohir. Adar. You are home. Will you not wake up?_

Elladan's response came a moment later. _I do not know how._

 **A/N:** Yay, I finally posted! Sorry for the long wait. Please drop me a review, even if it is just one word! I reply to them all! Also, I want to thank Eldhoron for supplying me with Elvrannon's name.:)


	8. Chapter 8

_I do not know how_.

Elrond smiled in spite of himself before answering. _I will show you._ Using Vilya to enhance his light, thus making it easier for Elladan's feä to connect to his, Elrond gently led Elladan around the dark barriers of his mind.

Slowly Elladan's eyes opened, the pupils gradually constricting as they became accustomed to the sudden light. His eyes flickered uncertainly around the room before coming to rest on his father's face. Memory came flooding back to him as he saw his face reflected in his father's eyes. Even as he cracked his lips apart to speak, he felt the edge of a glass come to rest against them. Sipping the cool water gratefully, Elladan struggled to place his scattered thoughts in order.

Pulling away from the glass, causing some water to run down onto his chin before Elrond replaced it on the table, he again tried to speak. 'Adar, Arathorn...'

'I know, Elladan,' Elrond assured soothingly. 'Elrohir told me.'

His hand brushed something and he carefully turned his head to see his twin curled up beside him, breathing softly as he slept. His brother's face was far too pale, and his purple-rimmed eyes were tightly shut. Almost unconsciously, his hand moved ever-so-slightly to grasp Elrohir's fingers loosely in his own. The slight contact seemed to give him more strength as his father's words registered in his mind. He shook his head in frustration. 'Aragorn.'

His father nodded. 'Elrohir told me,' he repeated. 'Both the lady and the child are here, safe and sound. So are you, but you must rest.'

Elladan nodded, the haunted look in his eyes diminishing somewhat.

'I am going to get you something for the pain you are undoubtedly feeling,' Elrond announced, running his hand over Elladan's hair. 'Try to stay awake, all right?'

Elladan nodded, his eyes again going to his brother's face. Even as he did so, Elrohir's brow creased slightly at some unknown thought, and his lips parted slightly as though he sought to speak.

The fingers in his hand twitched slightly, but Elladan had not the strength to hold them tighter. 'Ro,' he rasped around the returning dryness in his throat. 'Wake up.'

Elrohir seemed to sense his twin's presence, because he moved his head slightly closer to rest against Elladan's shoulder.

'Wake up, brother.'

'Let him sleep, Elladan,' Elrond's voice came from the end of the room. 'His body was completely exhausted when he returned with you, both emotionally and physically. He is not wounded, and will wake when he is ready to.'

Elladan was finding it harder for him to stay awake. His eyes were half-closed when Elrond returned, mug in hand.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping twin, Elrond slid an arm under Elladan's shoulders and helped him sit up.

Elladan muffled a groan as his healing leg was jostled in the process, and a wave of vertigo nearly overcame him. Dropping his head to rest against Elrond's shoulder, he weakly shook his head as his father coaxed him to drink the pungent tea.

'I insist,' Elrond said firmly, bringing the cup back to Elladan's lips. Softening his voice, he added, 'I do not like to see you in such a state, Elladan. You need uninterrupted rest if you wish to heal as quickly as possible, and the only way to get that is to dull the pain.'

As Elladan reluctantly drank the tea, Elrond observed Elrohir. The younger twin was obviously wakening, since his movements were becoming more frequent and Elrond could see the pupils roving restlessly beneath his eyelids.

Reaching out, Elrond placed a hand over Elrohir's eyes, frowning as he felt the lashes flutter against his hand as his son's eyes flew open. 'Sleep, Elrohir,' he commanded, removing his hand so Elrohir could see his brother. 'All is well.'

Elrohir's eyes widened at the sight of Elladan sitting up. 'El!'

Elladan turned away from the tea and gave his brother a rather lopsided smile. 'Mae govannen, muindor,' he whispered softly, suddenly bashful and unsure of what to say.

Elrohir's lips curled up in a smile as his father gave a soft laugh. 'You almost died... and all you can say is, 'Mae govannen?'' he asked, his heart lightening as he beheld his brother's smile.

Elladan ducked his head, embarrassed, and reached out to take hold of his brother's hand. As their hands clasped, their eyes met and Elrohir knew what his brother was unable to put into words.

 _I kept my promise._

 _I know,_ Elrohir replied silently. _And that is all that I wished for._

Elrond broke in. 'Finish the tea, Elladan,' he said, again steadying the mug for his son. 'Elrohir, you must go back to sleep. You are exhausted.'

Elrohir looked up at him. 'I am fine, Adar.'

Elrond nodded indulgently. 'Of course you are. But I should like you to be well, not fine.'

Elladan laughed weakly, but the sound soon turned into coughs as he swallowed the tea the wrong way. Grimacing in pain, he grasped at his chest as the hot liquid burned its way down. Immediately two sets of concerned eyes focused on him.

'I – I am all right,' he muttered once he had regained control of himself, the sleeping herbs that he had known were in the tea beginning to take its toll on him. He leaned tiredly against Elrond's shoulder as he slowly sipped the rest of the tea. He was past caring about the bitter taste or the unpleasant smell that rose from the mug as his eyes gradually slipped shut.

After laying Elladan down against the pillows, Elrond turned to Elrohir. 'How do you feel?' he asked softly.

'Tired,' Elrohir replied honestly. 'But much better than last time I woke.'

Elrond smiled. 'You look a little better now.'

Elrohir paused before posing the question he had been wanting to ask since seeing Elladan awake. 'Is he really healing?'

His father nodded. 'Now that he has woken, he should be fine,' he answered. Seeing Elrohir's frown, he added, 'Why do you ask?'

'Naneth finally woke too, but she still ended up sailing,' Elrohir whispered. He searched his father's eyes, looking for the smallest hint that Elrond was hiding something.

'Your naneth endured things far worse than Elladan did. It was not only the poison that was trapped in her body for so long, Elrohir. It was the trauma, the infections from her many wounds, and the poison, all working together. Your brother will not suffer the same fate.'

At last Elrohir sighed, contented with the answer, and lay back down. Within a few seconds of closing his eyes, though, they flew open again and he sat up hurriedly. 'Adar!'

Elrond turned from where he stood in the doorway. Seeing Elrohir's obviously worried expression, he swiftly returned to the bed. 'What is it?'

'I dreamed something,' his son began haltingly. 'There were Orcs... they were searching. I do not believe the Dark Lord is confident that the heir of Isildur was destroyed with Arathorn. He is seeking for the child.'

Even as he spoke, the room darkened as the sun went behind a cloud. A cool breeze blew through the open windows, bringing a few leaves with it.

Elrond's eyes flickered around as chills ran down his back. Standing suddenly, he shut the windows and drew the curtains. The room was blanketed in darkness, silent except for Elladan's soft breathing.

Lighting two lamps, Elrond returned to the bed. 'Tell me more, Elrohir.'

Elrohir closed his eyes as if he were hoping that by doing so, he would recall the dream better. 'I was in a forest, but there was no light. The wood was as though it were dead: no animals dwelt there, the trees did not whisper, and no light broke through the canopy of leaves. Suddenly there came the sound of many footsteps and the guttural tongue of... of His realm. I hid in one of the trees, but I had not much confidence that the tree would not reveal me. Orcs, hundreds of Orcs, passed beneath me. As I caught some of their words, I realised that they were speaking of the Rangers; in particular, of Arathorn.' Elrohir opened his eyes, and Elrond could see the tortured tumble of emotions they held. 'This was no dream, Adar. They suspect that the line of Isildur has not been broken with the death of Arathorn!'

Elrond massaged his temples, feeling the headache before it made its presence known. 'You have had visions before, I will admit. Though I am loathe to admit it, it would be foolhardy of me to pass this off as a dream. At all costs, Aragorn's real identity must be kept secret from as many as possible. I wonder how many of our folk are aware of his presence in Imladris.'

Elrohir shook his head. 'I do not know,' he yawned.

Elrond rose from where he sat at the foot of the bed. 'I saw that,' he announced, smiling despite the dark tidings he had on his mind. 'Thank you for telling me of this, Elrohir, but you really must get back to sleep now. Do not let it trouble you.' Kissing Elrohir on the brow, he left the room, deep in thought.

Once in his study, he stood at the window, absentmindedly swirling the wine he poured for himself around in the goblet. When a voice spoke to him at his elbow, he started.

'What is on your mind?'

'Glorfindel!'

'The one and only!'

Elrond resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Something serious has come up, my friend.'

Glorfindel immediately sobered. 'Indeed?'

'Elrohir has had a vision. The Enemy is searching for an heir to Isildur.' Elrond turned from the window to face his long-time friend.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, a trick he had learned from the Master of Imladris. 'Elrohir has had a vision, and yet you have seen nothing?'

'It has been known to happen,' Elrond said, thinking back to the time when Celebrian had been taken by Orcs. 'It is not surprising that at least one of them has inherited some of my foresight.'

Glorfindel shrugged. 'What do you plan to do about it?'

The dark-haired Elf grimaced. 'I am going to speak to Gilraen.'

'Ah,' Glorfindel said in understanding. 'I do not envy you that position. The lady is proud. May I ask how you intend to go about such a thing?'

Elrond did not answer immediately. 'How many Elves know that the child is here?' he asked instead.

'The five warriors that accompanied me when I went out to look for your sons, some of the household servants, and of course the twins and yourself.' Glorfindel considered for a moment. 'The servants can hardly be counted, since they do not know it is Gilraen and her son.'

Elrond nodded. 'I believe it will be necessary to change Aragorn's name. He must forget the identity of his father, he must grow up believing that he is merely a child of men, taken to be brought up among Elves.'

Glorfindel raised a skeptical eyebrow. 'That will not be easy to convince him of. As I have said, Gilraen is a proud woman; she will not willingly have her only child forget his people, his lineage.'

'She will,' Elrond said as he strode towards the door. He turned back to Glorfindel before opening the door. 'She must.'

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Again, please review! They make my day!


	9. Chapter 9

Elrond walked slowly down the hall towards Gilraen and Aragorn's chambers. Pausing outside the door as he waited for her to answer his knock, he inwardly went over what he had decided to say.

The door opened and Gilraen's timid face appeared around it. Upon seeing the Elven lord, she stepped aside, her face paling ever so slightly. 'Lord Elrond,' she said, inclining her head. 'Please come in. Is there something you wanted of me?'

'A few moments of your time, if that is permissible,' he answered.

The woman nodded. 'Aragorn is sleeping, but I do not know how long it will be till he wakes.' She gestured to the plush armchairs sitting near the window. 'Please, sit.'

Elrond did so, and waited until she was settled before speaking. 'Lady Gilraen, I have been thinking long and deeply on this matter, and believe, it is not easy for me to broach it.'

Gilraen clasped her hands nervously in her lap. 'Is something wrong, my lord?'

'No, not for certain,' the Elf answered. 'My son Elrohir tells me he has had a strange dream. He and I both believe it to have been a vision, concerning you and your son.'

Gilraen's eyes widened, her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage. 'I thought we were safe here!' she cried.

'You are,' Elrond hastened to reassure her. 'But it would seem that the Enemy still desires to ensure that the line of Isildur has ended with –'

'With Arathorn?' Gilraen filled in when he paused, her face an emotionless mask.

Elrond nodded gratefully. 'I am sorry, Gilraen.' He sat silently for a moment, then continued. 'With your permission, I ask to take some precautions to ensure your child's safety.'

'Precautions?' Gilraen asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

'Indeed,' Elrond replied. 'In order to keep curious eyes from Imladris, I believe it is best if Aragorn is not told of his lineage. At this young age, he will not remember that which is no longer mentioned.'

Gilraen's eyes flashed. 'How would you know, Master Elrond? Many times has it been said that humans mature at a much faster rate than do Elf children. Perhaps an Elven two-year-old would remember nothing that he is told now if it is not repeated, but my son would. He is sharp for his age!'

Elrond shook his head. 'You do not understand, my lady. I do not wish for Aragorn to grow up in such a way, but if the Enemy is to believe that there is no heir, this is the path we must tread. You need not make a decision hastily, but I beg of you to consider seriously what I have said.'

Gilraen rose from her chair, pacing anxiously in front of the fireplace. 'What else would you have me do, my lord?' she asked, her eyes glittering, as though she were daring the Lord of Imladris to go further. 'Convince him he is an Elf? Change his name?'

'As a matter of fact, yes,' Elrond answered quietly from his chair.

'As a matter... _what_?' Gilraen slowly walked forward till she was standing in front of him. 'Change his name?'

'I am sorry, Gilraen,' Elrond said again, rising. 'It is to the child's best interests that I am looking. Surely you did not expect this path to be painless and easy?'

Gilraen shook her head. 'Women of the Dunedain have learned not to hope for such things. But never has a mother had to leave her people, her family, for a haven of Elves. Never has a woman been asked to make her child forget that he once had a father, and even blot the child's own name from his memory!'

'Gilraen...'

Gilraen was in no mood to listen. 'Do you not realise what this will do to my son?' she interrupted furiously. 'He will grow up friendless, a human child amongst Elves hundreds of years older than him.'

'My sons are drawn to him,' Elrond argued. 'Elrohir, especially. They will befriend him.'

'Yours sons are two thousand, eight hundred and one years of age, Master Elrond,' Gilraen retorted. 'Yes, I do know. Elrohir told me.' She seemed to remember herself, for she suddenly cut herself off from her rant, and looked up at Elrond, her face flaming. 'Forgive me, my lord,' she murmured, taken aback. 'It is just that...'

'There is no need to apologise, Gilraen,' Elrond assured her gently. 'My sons may be well over two thousand years of age, but not long ago, they were children. Your son is the hope of the Dunedain, Gilraen. Ever since seeing Aragorn for the first time, I have harboured the faith that he will one day be the hope of my sons. Ever have they been after the Enemy since their mother was captured so many years ago. Aragorn may be their last chance. Gilraen, will you not understand? You are not the only one who is losing those who you love.'

Gilraen's head bowed in shame. 'I have been selfish, Master Elrond,' she confessed. 'I do know of your sons' blood lust. Often have they found... relief in joining forces with the Rangers. They have assisted us, and I will return the favour. I promise I shall consider your request seriously. Once I have made my decision, I shall come to speak with you.'

Elrond raised her delicate hand to his lips and kissed it, more out of gratitude than common courtesy. 'I am in your debt, my lady. Thank you for your time.'

Once in the safety of his study, Elrond poured himself a goblet of miruvor, downing the sweet-tasting restorative in three sips. Sinking into his chair, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had not expected the confrontation to go relatively smoothly.

There was a knock on the door and Erestor appeared in the door frame. 'Elrond, the southern patrol has returned. They ran into a large pack of Orcs and several are badly wounded. Will you come?'

Elrond nodded, rising from his chair and following the Elf from his study.

In the healing rooms, he found Glorfindel pacing in front of the window as healers tended to the five wounded warriors.

Elrond lost no time in going to work, questioning Glorfindel briskly as he did so. 'What happened, Glorfindel?'

'We were taken at unawares,' Glorfindel spat. It was plain he was disgusted with himself. 'I do not know how they slipped past our notice, but they managed it somehow. We slew them all, and returned here with all haste.'

'Is that area being watched by one of the other patrols?'

'Yes, I signaled Elvrannon, leading the western patrol. He split his command until we can send out a larger group.'

Elrond nodded, moving onto the next patient. 'You were lucky,' he said to the Elf who glanced up at him with pain-filled eyes. 'This is merely painful, not dangerous. Deep and bloody, yes, but not infected or poisoned.'

The Elf smiled weakly, but it soon turned into a grimace. 'The bloody Orc broke through my defence as I was about to kill it,' he muttered.

A little under an hour later, the wounded warriors lay sleeping peacefully, all of them out of danger. Elrond returned to his study to find Erestor waiting with the Lady Gilraen. Both rose as he entered the room.

'Lord Elrond,' Gilraen began as Erestor left the room. 'I have thought on your words, and I can find no real fault with them. Of course it brings me pain that my son must be raised without knowing his real identity, nor that of his father, but there is nothing that can be done about it. I will do as you ask, and we will raise him in secret. There is simply one thing. I would have you pick the name, since I do not think I can find it in me to choose one myself. I will be satisfied with whatever you come up with.'

Elrond bowed his head. 'It is agreed,' he replied, his gratitude and relief showing in his eyes. 'And I am glad, for I believe this is the only way.'

Gilraen ducked her head. 'I must return to my son now, for it is time he awoke from his nap. Good day, Master Elrond.'

'Good day.' Elrond walked her to the door. 'And Gilraen?'

'Yes?'

'The twins are two thousand, eight hundred and two. Their begetting day was last week.'

Gilraen's face cracked into a small smile. 'I am sorry they were not here for it, my lord.' Turning, she continued down the hall towards her chambers.

* * *

Alone in his study, Elrond sat, deep in thought. Different names ran through his mind, but none seemed to fit the child. He thought back to his earlier conversation with Gilraen. _'...I have harboured the faith that he will one day be the hope of my sons.'_

'Estel?'

'Pardon me, my lord?'

Elrond glanced up from his fingertips, only to see Glorfindel standing in the doorway. He smiled apologetically. 'Forgive me, my friend, I did not hear you enter. Is there something you wish of me?'

Glorfindel leaned on the desk, a frown creasing his brow. 'If it is all right with you, I wish to lead the replacement patrol to the south again. It would relieve my mind to know that there are more warriors in the area. Now that Elvrannon has split his patrol, there are most likely only four or five in the west and south.'

Elrond nodded. 'A wise thought,' he admitted. 'I am not opposed to the idea. However, I need your help, whether or not you need mine.'

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. 'My curiosity is piqued.'

Elrond handed him a goblet of miruvor. 'Gilraen has agreed that the child's name should be changed, but I can think of none that work.'

Glorfindel's eyebrow rose a little more. 'Estel?'

Elrond nodded. 'I was thinking of that, for he truly is hope. His mother has placed the choice in my hands, and I wish to tell her my decision this evening.' He hesitated before continuing. 'I must admit that I am not gifted with the talent of choosing names – Celebrian came up with all three of the children's. I merely went along with the plan.'

Glorfindel smirked. 'Then allow me. I believe Estel to be a fine name. Not only is it simple to remember, it is also the truth. I believe Celebrian would be pleased with your choice, were she to know about it.'

The Master of Imladris smiled sadly, memories of happier days nearly overwhelming him. 'Estel it shall be, then,' he announced. 'Thank you, Glorfindel.'

Meanwhile in Gilraen's chambers, Aragorn was slowly waking. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes with his plump hands. He looked around in confusion, before remembering he was at El'dan and El'hir's home. His eyes fell on his mother as she entered the room.

'Mama!' he exclaimed happily, sliding off the bed and running over to her.

Gilraen swept him up to sit on her hip, placing a kiss on the warm little cheek. 'Hello, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?'

Aragorn nodded, his eyes flicking about the room, wide with awe. 'Where are El'dan and El'hir?'

'They are probably taking a nap, too,' his mother answered, hoping the child would press no further.

Aragorn, however, was inquisitive. 'Does their mama make them sleep during the daytime, too?' he asked, his surprise plainly seen.

Gilraen shook her head swiftly. 'No, Aragorn. You must not speak of their mother, for if you do, the twins shall become angry. They sleep because they were injured, remember?'

Aragorn thought for a moment. 'El'hir was hurt?' he asked in concern.

Gilraen shrugged, not quite understanding why Elrohir had collapsed so suddenly. 'In a way,' she finally said. 'But ask no more, for I can give no answers. Perhaps we can ask Lord Elrond this evening.'

The child nodded, seemingly satisfied.

'Come now,' his mother rejoined a moment later. 'Let us see if we can look around the house.'

* * *

That evening after supper, Elrond called Gilraen into his study after ensuring that Aragorn would be looked after. Shutting the door behind her, Elrond gestured to a comfortable armchair by the fire. 'Please, take a seat, Gilraen.'

Once she was settled, he began. 'After much thought, I have come up with a possible name for Aragorn.'

She raised a delicate eyebrow. 'Oh?'

'Glorfindel and I both think that Estel is a fitting name,' he began, pausing when she opened her mouth.

'Estelle is a name for girls,' she protested. 'Will Aragorn not be teased?'

Elrond smiled. 'I am aware of the name Estelle, and this will not be the first time it has been in the Peredhil family – it was the name of my first niece. Yet in the Elven tongue it means 'hope,' and I know my brother would be honoured if Aragorn were named after his child.'

Gilraen was silent for a moment. At last she nodded her head. 'Very well,' she said suddenly. 'I am content. I, in turn, shall be proud to have my son named in remembrance of the child of the first king of Numenor.'

* * *

So it was that the child of Arathorn came to live in Imladris, and was taken into the care of Elrond Peredhil. Gradually, he forgot the name Aragorn and no longer remembered his father, whose place was taken by Elrond.

After Elrond adopted Estel, the twins remained at home for most of the time, no longer desperate to gain revenge for their mother's torment. They trained Estel in the art of sword-fighting, archery, and horseback riding, as well as served as his partners-in-crime – or perhaps it would be fairer to say that _he_ acted as _their_ partner-in-crime.

In time, he joined the twins on their patrols and on leisurely hunting trips during their leave periods. So it remained, until one day, everything changed.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Yay, a cliffie! Aren't you all happy? *beams at readers * Hmm. Why all the frowns? Tell you what: I'll update quicker if you review, I promise! Deal? *shakes hands with readers* Deal.


	10. Chapter 10

_Eighteen years later_

It was late March of the year 2951 that the twins and twenty-year-old Estel set out on a journey to a nearby human settlement with supplies. The winter had not been kind to the village, causing sickness and hunger to be spread through almost all of the homes.

The three brothers travelled steadily, laughing in joy at the spring-like weather. Oftentimes a race would break out among them, but at the moment they were riding through a dark forest side-by-side, speaking little.

Suddenly Elrohir shook his head, as though jerking himself from his quiet state. 'This will not do,' he said cheerfully. 'This stretch of the path is mostly even; I propose a race! First one to pass that great oak tree yonder gets a free meal at the tavern tonight!'

Elladan and Estel perked up at the thought of a free dinner. After sighting the oak tree, the three lined up on the wide path and prepared for Elrohir's word.

'Three... two... one... Go!'

The ground shook as twelve hooves pounded in a steady rhythm over the leaf-covered path, the riders laughing in delight as the wind whipped through their hair. Elladan was slightly ahead of the other two, and he glanced back at his brothers tauntingly. 'I thought you were supposed to be the horse-master, Ro!' he called back.

Elrohir's answer was simply to lean down closer and whisper in Varion's ear. Untangling his right hand from the reins, he reached down and placed his hand on the side of the horse's neck. 'Now, mellon nín!' he commanded Varion. 'Now is our chance!'

The horse put on an extra burst of speed, easily gaining on his master's brother. Elrohir laughed out loud at the look of shock on Elladan's face as they caught up and slowly gained ahead of Elladan.

The oak tree loomed up in front of Elrohir and he glanced back with a gloating expression at his brothers. 'Now who's the horse-master, El?' he shouted.

For the rest of their lives, the twins and Estel never could say exactly what happened in the next five seconds. It played out in slow motion before Elladan and Estel's eyes: Elrohir shouting at Elladan tauntingly, before turning back to face forwards and skidding around the bend by which the oak stood. Varion gave a sudden whinny and sought to slow his gait as he saw the camouflaged pit loom up seemingly directly in front of his hooves.

But it was too late; Varion was at a full gallop, and there was no way he could stop in time. Desperately, the horse tried to veer around the pit, but the leafy path was treacherous under the flying hooves. Even as he escaped running directly into the pit, his hooves slipped to the right, causing him to fall heavily onto his left side.

Elrohir, not expecting the sudden move, gave a cry as he flew off Varion. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blazing pain he knew would come within seconds. When he felt nothing, he opened his eyes, only to let out a scream as he saw the bottom of a pit right below him. Jagged rocks poked up out of filthy, leaf-coated water and the smell of rotting foliage and dank earth were the last things he was aware of before he landed.

Elrohir's breath left him in a rush as he came to rest on his side on the rocks. His head snapped back with the force of his landing before striking a piece of rotten wood. Biting back a cry of agony, Elrohir was just aware of Elladan's terrified shout before consciousness fled him.

On the path, both riders saw Elrohir fall and Elladan automatically kicked his horse into a flying leap so as to avoid tramping his twin. Looking down as his horse leapt, he saw to his horror Elrohir lying limply at the bottom of a pit. 'Ai, Elbereth!' he cried aloud before pulling his horse to a stop once they cleared the pit.

Cautiously, he made his way to the edge of the gaping hole in the path, not wanting to fall in himself. He knelt down at the side and measured the distance from the path to the bottom of the pit: a good six feet.

Estel had had enough time to swerve around the path, and now he joined Elladan. 'Valar,' he breathed, upon seeing Elrohir's still form lying on the rocks. 'We have to get him out of there soon. If his head slips just a little, he'll end up drowning on that sludge.'

Elladan glanced up at his human brother. 'If I go down and get him, do you think you can pull us both up again?'

Estel nodded. 'Of course. Or perhaps you should go down and I'll continue to the village to get help. There is no telling how badly injured he is.'

Elladan thought it over. 'I will take both our healing packs down, then, just as a precaution,' he finally said, agreeing to the plan. 'Ride swiftly, gwador, and pray that there are men left in the town well enough to help.'

Again Estel nodded. 'I shall return soon, I promise. Do not worry, my brother.'

'I do, nonetheless,' Elladan muttered as he sat down on the edge, preparing to slide into the hole. To his relief the ground was more or less solid where he landed, and he easily made his way over to his brother. Before moving Elrohir, Elladan ran his hands over his twin's body, checking for broken bones. He did not even need to touch Elrohir's right leg to know it was broken: the limb was twisted under his brother, and the bone was visible where it had punctured the skin.

'Oh, El,' he mumbled while gently lifting his brother's head from where it rested an inch or so above the surface of water. His left temple bled sluggishly from where the bark had scraped against it, and his left jawbone was raw, probably also caused by the log.

Elladan shook his head impatiently. There was very little he could do, even with the healing herbs that Estel had handed down to him before continuing towards the village. It was a miracle that neither Elrohir's neck nor back were broken, Elladan reflected. If they had been, Elrohir would have had only a small chance of surviving.

* * *

Meanwhile, Estel rode hard towards the village. The Elves had been able to see it through the trees, but it had been too far away for Estel. Now the palisades appeared on the horizon and his spirits rose a little.

As he drew nigh to the gate, the smell of rotten bodies met his nostrils. Gagging, he struggled to keep his stomach from expelling its contents and rode through the open gate. Once within the fort-like structure, he slowed his horse to a walk. The streets were completely deserted, and the horse's hooves echoed loudly on the cobblestones.

Estel's eyes darted from side-to-side, looking for any sign of life. Nothing moved, not a sound came from the surrounding buildings. He was debating whether or not to go into one of the houses to see if any lived, but before he could do more than dismount, there came a rattling from one of the side-streets. Estel ran forward, his horse following close behind.

A middle-aged man appeared from the road, trundling a wooden wheelbarrow in front of him. He stopped with a sharp exclamation upon seeing Estel.

'Here, now, and who might ye be?' he asked, his blue eyes running up and down Estel's form. 'We don't welcome strangers 'round here, 'specially not now. Don't ye know there's sickness going 'round?'

Estel inclined his head. 'For that reason I came,' he replied. 'Lord Elrond of Rivendell heard of your plight and sent my brothers and me to take you supplies.'

Again he was subjected to inspection. 'What's your name, lad?' the man asked at length. 'If it is help ye bring, then we receive it gratefully. Not many more of us live by this time; the plague's taken all but a few dozen of us.'

Estel shuddered slightly, the contents of the wheelbarrow suddenly dawning on him. 'I am sorry,' he said at length. 'I was hoping I could bring some help to my brothers – one of them fell into an animal trap a ways down the forest path. He is badly injured, and we are in need of assistance. Are there no men here who could come back with me?'

The man shook his head. 'I am the only one who has not succumbed to the illness,' he replied. 'Lord Elrond was good to think of us mortals, and I wish I could return the favour. But the villagers need me.'

Estel bit his lip, deep in thought. 'My brother will surely die if he does not receive help,' he said at length. All we need is a bier and a man to help us get them out of the pit safely. You have my word that if you come to our assistance, after my brothers are on their way back to Rivendell, I will remain here and help with those who are ill.'

The man paused. 'You are likely to get the plague yourself, lad,' he warned. 'Even now, you have been here long enough to be exposed. Best not to risk your brothers as well.'

Estel smiled slightly. 'My brothers will be in no danger, I assure you,' he answered. 'We are not brothers by blood, but by adoption – their father took me in when my parents died. My brothers are of the Elven-kind.'

The man's eyes widened. 'Elves! Very well, I will come, if only to help prevent the death of an immortal. I am afraid, though, that we have no bier. We have burned all the spare wood, and those that remain are serving as beds. I apolgise.'

Estel bowed. 'It is of little matter, I am sure,' he said gratefully. 'If need be, we can fashion one out of branches.'

The man nodded. 'I have few healing skills, and there is little I can do now but cart out the bodies of those who succumb to the disease.' He gestured to the wheelbarrow. 'As you can see.'

Together the two men rode back towards where the twins were waiting, Estel quickly explaining what had happened while his companion listened sympathetically. 'The pit is usually covered by boards,' he explained when Estel finished speaking. 'But we uncovered it since wolves have been roaming too close to the settlement for our comfort. There are more of them spread around the outside of the village, but they have been unsuccessful.'

It length they arrived at the pit. Elladan and Elrohir's horses stood protectively by it, and Estel could hear Elladan's voice speaking in soothing tones to their brother.

'I have brought help, Elladan,' he called to Elladan.

'Good,' came Elladan's strained voice. 'Elrohir is just beginning to wake. As far as I can see, he has a broken leg and a lot of bruises. I cannot be sure yet, but I believe he may have a slight concussion, too.'

Estel sighed, glancing at the man beside him, before speaking. 'I will pass you a length of rope from one of the saddlebags; if you tie it around you and Ro, we can pull you up.'

The man watched as Estel retrieved the rope from one of the horses and tossed an end to his brother.

'What is it?' he asked as Estel gave him the other end. 'Surely it is not strong enough to pull them both up?'

Estel smiled grimly. 'Fear not. It will suffice. It is _hithlain_ , the rope of the Elves of Lothlorien. It will not fail us.'

Elladan's voice came from the bottom of the pit. 'Estel!'

'Aye?'

'I have Ro tied. I will support him from down here if you will pull from up there. Do it slowly, for he must not bump against the edge. I will follow afterwards.'

Estel nodded, turning to the man beside him. 'Ready?'

With the three of them helping, Elrohir was soon back on the forest floor, being anxiously nudged by his horse. He had again fallen unconscious, to his brothers' relief, and so he was unaware as he was laid down and the rope was removed.

The next moment, Elladan clambered over the side of the pit and – ignoring the two humans – ran to Elrohir's side. Now that his brother was lying on his back, he could more easily assess the damage to his brother's chest and ribs.

Even in his unconscious state, Elrohir groaned and flinched away as Elladan's hands ghosted over his sides. His brow furrowed in a frown, as he muttered incoherently.

'How is he, El?' Estel asked softly.

Elladan shook his head. 'Three broken ribs. I am surprised there are not more, for I should think that they took the brunt of the fall.' He glanced up and saw the stranger standing beside Estel. 'But forgive me! In my worry for my brother, I have forgotten my manners!' Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed to the man. 'My name is Elladan, son of Elrond. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.'

The man bowed back, less gracefully. 'Daryn Fletcher at your service, Master Elf,' he answered, nervously meeting Elladan's gaze.

'You have my thanks for coming to our assistance, Daryn,' Elladan continued. 'May I inquire after your town? We have come with supplies.'

Daryn shook his head. 'There is little need. As I was saying to your – brother, here, there are few of us left. The plague has swept through, taking more lives every day.'

'Elladan,' Estel began, hoping his brother would take his announcement the right way. 'I have agreed to remain here with Daryn to help with his neighbours, in return for his help here. I have been exposed to the illness already, so I may as well stay for a time. You must ride back with Elrohir, so that Adar can look after him.'

'You... Estel, that is insane!' Elladan cried. 'It is practically suicide!'

'Elladan,' Estel broke in. 'I promised.'

Elladan opened his mouth to continue his protests, but ended up turning away with an angry sigh. 'Do you know what Adar is going to say about this, Estel? You will be gone, Elrohir will be unconscious, so guess who he will take it out on?'

'I am sorry, Elladan. A promise is a promise. Daryn and Elrohir both need help. So you go your way, I'll go mine. That's the end of it.'

'Very well,' Elladan spat. 'Help me set his leg, then, and we will be off.'

With Estel's assistance, Elladan straightened his twin's leg and immobilized it with a makeshift splint of slender tree branches. Once that was finished, Elladan mounted his horse and gestured to Estel to hand his brother up to him. 'I swear, Estel, if you come down with anything, I'll finish you off it it does not.'

Estel nodded. 'You say that every time, El,' he replied mildly. 'I will be careful.'

With a jerk of his head, Elladan turned his horse in the opposite direction, and, making sure that Elrohir was as comfortable as possible, started back in the direction of Imladris.

 **A/N:** Ha, I finally got around to the next chapter! Sorry for taking so long.:) I would love it if you would drop me a review!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm back! *hides from flying knives* Ah, you want the next chapter? Here you go! Just... put the knives away, yes?**

* * *

Elladan rode as smoothly as possible towards Imladris, not wanting to cause Elrohir more pain that he was already in. Even so, Elrohir moaned in his unconscious state when his leg bumped slightly against Elladan's.

'I am sorry, Ro,' Elladan murmured. 'I am trying to get you home as quickly as I can.'

During the next two hours, Elrohir woke periodically, but he only remained conscious for a few minutes at a time. During those times, his glazed eyes were either fixed on his brother or else tightly shut as he attempted to overcome the pain.

At last the sun began to set and Elladan kept an eye out for a good place to make camp. They were out in the open, about half a day's ride from the Bruinen. Keeping in mind that in the event of an attack, he would be the only defender, he finally chose a spot away from rocks and trees so that enemies could not hide.

A low moan came from Elrohir as Elladan laid him gently by the fire, but other than that, he was silent.

'I have to check your injuries now, Ro,' Elladan said softly, once the horse had been unsaddled and was grazing contentedly. 'Bear with me, all right?'

A slight nod of Elrohir's head was the only sign that his brother had heard him at all. Nonetheless, Elladan set to work, cleaning the numerous cuts and bruises that marred his brother's body. Of all the wounds, the broken ribs were what caused Elladan the most worry. He had few pain killers in his healing kit, so the pain kept Elrohir from breathing deeply. Even now, his breathing was shallow and each inhalation was quick and insufficient.

'We have to get you to Adar soon,' Elladan muttered, more to himself than to Elrohir. 'Would that we had been more prepared!'

* * *

Meanwhile, in the village, Estel and Daryn worked tirelessly for the sick. Still, in Daryn's absence, many more had died, and now the only remaining townsfolk lay at death's door as the two men did their best to ease their deaths.

Estel hated feeling so helpless. His father was the greatest healer in Middle-earth; why could he not remember what to do? He would have given much to see his father step through the doorway with his confident gait.

The young ranger shook his head, fighting of despair. They did not even have many herbs left anymore for those who were in the most pain: the herb storage had been reduced to almost nothing within the first week of the illness. Slamming a fist into the wall in frustration, Estel bit back a curse. Daryn looked at him, a look of mild curiosity shining in his eyes. 'It is only a matter of time until we come down with the illness, too, you know!' the younger man said to Daryn. 'I have little hope that we will come away from here.'

Daryn shook his head. 'There is more hope than you think,' he encouraged. 'Did you not say that Lord Elrond is your foster father?'

'I said that, yes,' Estel conceded. 'But what does that matter if he is three days' ride from here?'

Daryn shrugged. 'These last patients will not survive the night,' he predicted, his face showing no emotion. 'They are beyond our help.'

Estel said nothing, though inwardly he knew the older man was correct.

'Once they have passed, there is nothing to keep us here – unless it be sickness.' Daryn paused and glanced sideways at Estel. 'After – if – we show the symptoms, we have about two days to get help. Any longer and we will not make it. At least that is what happened to these poor people.'

'Such a plan should not be made in haste,' Estel replied slowly. 'If we leave tonight, the bodies of the townsfolk will be abandoned to the mercies of any who may enter the village after we leave.'

'By Ulmo,' Daryn swore. 'Can you not see, lad? They're dead, or as good as, but we're alive! Once hope for them has gone, then we must keep that which remains for ourselves! Any whoever may find their bodies after we leave will get no information out of them, except that they are dead!'

'It is no time for humour!' Estel snapped.

'Humour was not my intent,' Daryn replied, his sharp tone matching Estel's. 'Neither is it the time for being stubborn and willful!'

'Then stop being so!' Estel shouted, striding forward till he stood directly in front of Daryn. 'Stop being so, and let me think!'

Daryn turned away with a snort and contented himself by pacing around the room, stopping every now and then to soothe the thirst of the patients.

Hours passed, and, as Daryn had said they would, one by one the patients died. Soon there were only three left, and Estel could tell that they would not survive long.

'You were right,' he said abruptly. His voice echoed off the empty walls of the room, and Daryn started at the sound.

'What?'

'You were right,' Estel admitted. 'After they are gone, we should look after our own welfare.'

Daryn nodded. 'I am glad you have agreed. After all, remember what your brother told you before he left: if you died, he would kill you!'

That drew a small smile from Estel. 'Ever has it been Elladan's way to speak so,' he said quietly. 'It drives our father mad.'

Daryn returned the smile before moving to the bedside of a young girl. Shaking his head sadly, he slid his arm under her thin shoulders and helped her sit up slightly as hacking coughs racked her body. 'She is choking on her own fluids,' he muttered. 'There is nothing I can do for her but watch her die.'

Even as he spoke, the coughs stilled as the girl ran out of breath. Her face slowly lost its colour and her lips turned blue. Laying his hand on her chest, Daryn closed his eyes as the last heartbeat faded into silence.

* * *

The sun had long since gone down and still Elladan sat by the fire, ever watchful. Every now and then, his eyes strayed to where Elrohir lay sleeping deeply, pain creasing his forehead.

The night was silent and still. Before long, Elladan found it difficult to keep his eyes open. Several times, he forced his eyes to clear after they glazed over, harshly berating himself.

 _You must not go to sleep, fool! If danger happens upon us when I am not aware, neither of us shall live to see the light._

After one such time, Elladan dug in his pack, desperate for something to keep him awake. His hand came upon a small metal tin at the bottom of the pack, and eagerly he drew it out. He smiled as the smell wafted up to him. It was rare that he stirred a step from the Last Homely House without a tin of the cook's famous chocolate somewhere on his person. Eagerly, he pried the lid off and broke a small piece of chocolate off the large chunk.

The sweet taste filled his mouth and immediately he became more alert. The chocolate slowly dissolved on his tongue and he put the tin safely back in his pack, determined not to eat all of it at once.

A groan came from the other side of the fire. Elladan crawled over to his brother and frowned at the heat he felt radiating from Elrohir's body.

'A fever too, tithen muindor?' he asked wryly, placing his hand on his twin's brow. 'It can never be simple with you, can it?'

Elrohir's glazed eyes flew open suddenly. 'Look out, El!' he whimpered, his words slurred. 'They are coming to get you!'

'Shh, brother, no one will get either of us. I promise.'

Elrohir did not seem to hear. 'Get Arwen... tell Adar to go to the caves...'

Elladan's face grew even more concerned. It boded ill if his brother was becoming delirious already. 'Wake up, Ro. We will be home soon, and you can tell Adar to go to the caves as many times as you wish.'

Again his attempt to wake his brother went unnoticed. The younger twin continued to thrash around in his restless sleep, and Elladan soon settled down beside him, feeling more helpless than ever.

* * *

As the life drained out of the child, Estel walked over and placed a sympathetic hand on Daryn's shoulder. 'There was nothing you could do,' he said softly. 'Besides, I am sure that she is happy to be rid of the pain she would have been in otherwise.'

Daryn nodded, laying the girl back down to rest on the mattress. The remaining two townsfolk were barely hanging onto life, and it would not be long till the ranger and Daryn were the only living ones left.

Even as these thoughts ran through his mind, the harsh, rasping breaths that came from one of the beds began to falter. Estel made his way to the bed, a glass of water in his hand. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he slipped an arm under the thin shoulders of the woman lying there. After she was leaning against him, he placed the beaker of water against her lips, coaxing her to take a sip.

The woman's eyes cracked open. 'Ye're very good, sir, that's what ye are,' she muttered. 'Thankee.'

'Do not speak,' Estel whispered. 'There are no thanks needed.'

The woman smiled, feeling darkness begin to creep over her mind. 'T'won't be long now,' she predicted before her eyes slipped closed. 'I'll be back with my Robert, an' little Tom...' Her voice died out as her breathing slowed to a stop. Her heart beat weakly for another moment, and then all was still.

 **TBC...**

 **Please review if you enjoyed it!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Wow, an update three days after the last one! ;) Hope you enjoy chapter 12! Not too much farther to go before we're finally finished the story!**

* * *

Hoofbeats pounded on the dirt path, leading away from the village. The last villager, a young man about Estel's age, had passed away not two hours before. Together, Daryn and Estel had piled the bodies in the village square and set fire to the mound. Now all that remained of the townspeople were smouldering piles of ash and charred pieces of bone.

Daryn had taken one of the better nags from the milkman's stable and now the two were riding with all haste back towards Imladris. As of yet, neither of the two had displayed the symptoms of the plague, but Daryn suspected it would only be a matter of time. No human could live among people diagnosed with such a severe disease and hope not to contract it – unless they happened to be immune to the illness.

'How far do you figure we are from Rivendell?' the man asked suddenly.

Estel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. 'Three days' ride, no less,' he answered truthfully. 'Do you feel ill?'

Daryn shrugged. 'I cannot be sure. It may just be a figment of my imagination, having been exposed to it for so long.'

'How long were you at it before I came?' Estel asked.

'A couple weeks,' Daryn replied. 'Why do you ask?'

'If you have not fallen victim to it after two weeks, it may be that it will pass over you. It is, after all, unusual to be able to stand against it for so long.'

Daryn's eyes lit up with hope. 'Please Eru, it will be so,' he muttered. Suddenly his eyes sharpened and he turned to face the younger man. 'What of yourself? You do not hold such hope for yourself?'

Estel shook his head. 'I feel weary and spent. I think that the sooner we get to Elrond, the better it will be.'

Daryn made no answer. He had come to like this young, resourceful man, and the thought of losing another to the plague made his heart sink.

* * *

Morning finally came. As he watched the sun rise, Elladan's thoughts went to his human brother. It had already been nearly a full day since they had parted, and he found himself filled with anxiety. _What was I thinking, allowing him to go off into that forsaken town?_ he berated himself. _Adar is going to flay me and nail my hide to the stable door._

The image that arose in his mind caused him to chuckle. Rising to his feet, he walked to the other side of the fire, where Elrohir lay.

His twin's fever was high, and he still cried out intermittently in his sleep. Resting his hand gently on Elrohir's leg, Elladan frowned at the amount of swelling there was at the location of the break.

'Hang on, Ro, we will be at home soon – before nightfall, if we can ride fast enough!' he muttered, more to himself than to Elrohir.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Elrohir's mind, everything was a swirling shade of black or grey. Voices echoed in his head, and memories leapt around confusingly: one moment, he was in Imladris, the next he was riding through the woods of the Angle. Other times he saw his mother, before the accident, but the second afterwards, he was screaming as he beheld her, chained by her neck to the wall of the cave.

The voices of his brothers, his parents, and his friends resounded through his mind, but the only one he could place was that of his twin.

'Ro...'

'What?' he tried to answer, but it came out as a wordless scream of fear.

'Wake up, Ro!'

'Can you not see that I am trying?' Again, his tongue would not form the words.

By and by, though Elladan's pleadings did not stop, they began to merge together, and he could no longer make sense of what was being said. All he wanted was for the constant noise to stop, so the pounding in his head would be reduced.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted. He would have kicked and struggled, but the moment be tried to move his arms, his whole chest began to feel as though it were inflamed. Next, he tried to kick, but a scream of agony was ripped from his throat when his leg came in contact with the ground.

* * *

Elladan started violently when, as he was picking Elrohir up from his position on the ground, Elrohir let out a cry of pain. Fixing his gaze on his brother's face, Elladan was momentarily gratified at the sight of his brother's open eyes. His relief died away almost as soon as it came, though: Elrohir was obviously not aware of what was going on around him: his pupils were dilated, and his eyes were glassy with fever.

'Ro, _wake up_ ,' he murmured, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. 'Please?'

Elrohir lay, tense and staring sightlessly up at the sky, before collapsing limply against Elladan's body. Seeing his brother was once again unconscious, Elladan rose to his feet and walked carefully towards the horses.

Varion, having no rider to bear, had become the pack-horse, and all the supplies the twins had with them were already strapped onto the his back. Elladan's steed, Rodwen, stood patiently waiting for her master's command.

Elladan carefully set Elrohir on Rodwen's back before climbing up himself – rather more clumsily than usual. 'Off we go, Rodwen,' he murmured , before turning to his brother's horse. 'Ready, Varion?'

They set a quick pace, for Elladan was growing more concerned by the moment at Elrohir's lack of response. They reached the Bruinen a little before noon. After crossing, Elladan halted Varion and Rodwen, removing the tack from Rodwen and the packs from Varion. While they drank at the river, he checked Elrohir over again, relieved to find that he had not appeared to grow worse. His fever was still worryingly high, and his leg had swollen a little more from the constant riding, but the splint was keeping it immobile enough.

After Elladan hastily ate a wafer of lembas, the four companions set off again. If all went well, Elladan hoped that they would be home within three hours.

* * *

By the end of the day, it was obvious that Estel was coming down with the sickness. His head pounded, his limbs felt weak, and he could hardly stand without keeling over from dizziness.

'Daryn...' he muttered finally. 'We have to stop... I cannot stand this much longer.'

'We have to keep going for as long as we can,' Daryn insisted. 'If you need help, I will give it. We have to get you to your father soon.'

Estel nodded.

Daryn frowned at the patches of pink that blushed Estel's cheeks. Even without feeling Estel's forehead, Daryn could tell that he had a high fever already.

 _It's progressing too fast!_ he thought to himself. _He will not last all the way to Rivendell._

He glanced a second time at Estel, and again his brow creased at the sight of the swaying ranger. 'Look here, Estel, do you mind if I ride behind you?' he asked.

Estel made no answer, so Daryn reached over and grabbed the reins of Estel's horse. Clambering on behind Estel, he motioned to the nag to follow closely behind. 'We'll have to set a fast clip,' he said to the old horse. 'Try'n keep up as good as you can.'

The nag, old as she was, managed to keep pace with the Elven horse remarkably well. They were crossing a barren plain when the mare gave a startled whinny, which swiftly turned into a pained one. Glancing behind him, Daryn was shocked to see the horse go head-over-heels as her leg slipped into a gopher hill.

Dismounting swiftly, Daryn laid Estel on the ground before running over to the nag. 'Your leg's broken, my girl,' he murmured softly to her, after inspecting her left foreleg. 'I'll put you out of your misery. It'll be quick, and you'll be the happier for it.'

Steeling his mind, he drew his knife and set it against her trembling neck. 'You were a good sport, girl, and I'll be sad not to have you along anymore.' With no further words, he drew the knife firmly across the mare's neck. Almost instantly, the horse's eyes rolled up as blood flowed out of her neck. With one last shuddering tremor, she lay still.

* * *

Rodwen and Varion flew across the meadows of Imladris, the wind blowing through their manes and tails. They were a mere half-hour from the House of Elrond, and Rodwen's master was pushing both horses to their fullest extent.

Trees and bushes flew by in a blur, but Elladan noticed none of it. His eyes were fixed on his twin, and one of his hands rested on either Elrohir's chest or his neck, monitoring his heart and pulse rates.

'Hold on, Ro, we are almost home,' he comforted when Elrohir let out a low moan. 'You will be in bed in no time!'

After what seemed an eternity to Elladan, they were clattering over the narrow bridge that spanned the crashing river below.

Elves, upon hearing the frantic hoofbeats, appeared from various places, and before long, Elrond had been alerted. Before Elladan could dismount, Elrond was running down the steps towards the twins.

'What happened?' he asked as he took Elrohir from Elladan.

Elladan passed Varion and Rodwen to the stable-hand who appeared next to him before answering. 'We were racing; El had an accident. He fell into an animal trap when Varion misjudged a step. He has some broken ribs, a broken leg, and numerous other scrapes and bruises.'

Elrond nodded, for the moment not seeming to notice that Estel was no where to be seen. 'He has quite the fever, too,' he observed, feeling the heat on his shoulder where Elrohir's head rested.

'I could not lower it; forgive me.'

His father shook his head, smiling slightly. 'I am sure you did all you could, Elladan. The important thing is that he is home – and alive.'

* * *

As much as Daryn regretted it, he was forced to leave the nag lying in the middle of the plain – there was no settlement for miles around, and Estel needed to get to Imladris as soon as was possible.

So, slinging Estel up in front of him, the two rode on at a gallop towards the valley. It was lucky, Daryn reflected, that the horse knew the way back home, for he himself most certainly did not. The horse found paths through the forest where few would be able to track them, it found the best places to ford the many creeks and rivers they came across.

As time passed, though, Estel grew worse. His fever was raging, and he had long since expelled the remains of the last meal he had eaten. He refused to take the water that Daryn continually tried to get him to drink, and Daryn could tell that dehydration would be setting in soon.

As for Daryn himself, he had yet to feel the symptoms of the plague. He began to hope that Estel had been correct – that he was somehow immune to the disease. Thinking of the plague brought his mind back to the village, and those he had known and loved for years. Tears clouded his vision as he thought of the little girl who had died in his arms, slowly gasping away her last breaths.

'May you find peace, wherever you are,' he murmured, his voice instantly carried away on the wind.

* * *

Elrohir found himself slowly coming to consciousness. _Strange,_ he thought. _The ground is so soft, and the smell is so homey._

He forced his eyes to open, but at the sight of the wooden beams above him, curving gracefully beneath the carved ceiling, they began drifting shut again. He was finally home again.

 _Finally home again_! His eyes snapped open again. 'Home?' he rasped, his voice stinging his throat.

He turned his aching head to the side, and indeed, he saw the familiar walls and furniture of one of the family's private healing rooms.

'Yes, you are home.'

The voice coming from his other side startled Elrohir, causing him to jerk his eyes towards the sound. The movement pulled at his chest, which, in response, sent up a throbbing pain. Elrohir clamped his lips together in an effort to stifle a moan of discomfort. His eyes met those of Elrond, who smiled at his bewildered expression. 'Adar?'

'Indeed,' his father replied, placing a glass of water at his son's lips. 'It is about time you woke.'

Elrohir drank thirstily, then looked around the room, trying not to turn his head too much. 'Elladan?'

'I sent him off to rest. The foolish Elf has been sitting here at your bedside since he brought you home nigh on three hours ago. He was nearly asleep on his feet.'

Elrohir smiled slightly, before memories returned to him. 'What of Estel, then?'

Elrond's face immediately became a mask of seriousness. 'Your brother has told me as much as he can, though it is not nearly enough. Apparently, after you fell, Estel went to the village for help, and came back with the one man well enough to walk. Daryn, I believe Elladan said his name was. Estel, impetuous human that he is, decided to take it upon himself to return to the village with Daryn, ignoring the risk to his own health, and help with the remaining patients.'

'And... you know nothing else?'

'Nothing. Except that it has been a day and a half since then, and there has been no sign of him. I have already sent Glorfindel out to look for them, for it is almost certain that one or both of them will come down with the illness themselves.'

Elrohir opened his mouth to speak, but his father held up his hand.

'No more talking. Not only do you have a broken leg, you also have several broken ribs, and speaking will only aggravate them. You must sleep now.' With a quelling glare, he cut Elrohir's protest off before it could be voiced. 'I insist.'

Elrohir sighed. It was a useless argument when his father was in this mood, and a waste of breath – and strength. 'Very well,' he murmured. 'Good night.'

Elrond leaned down and kissed him on the brow. 'Good night, Elrohir.'

 **TBC...**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Ha, I was going to work on the next chapter of this so I could post it tomorrow morning, when suddenly I found that I already had one chapter waiting to be published, and the next halfway finished! I can't believe this one was sitting for so long, completely forgotten!

Sorry for the unnecessary wait, guys; you're all the best!

* * *

Daryn and Estel continued to ride steadily. Unknown to Daryn, they were within a day's ride of Imladris, thanks to the speed and endurance of Estel's horse.

Their road was long and quiet, and completely uneventful. It was not until they were in the midst of a great forest that Daryn – human though he was – sensed something stirring in the trees. Drawing the horse to a halt, he looked around carefully. 'Who goes there?' he called to the stillness.

No answer.

'Show yourselves!'

This time, there came merry laughter. Daryn's heart leapt. That sound could only come from Elves. 'Please, I have one who is grievously ill!' he called.

Suddenly, an Elf leapt down into the middle of the path right in front of him. Daryn almost fell off the saddle is surprise, but the horse only whinnied in greeting.

'Hail, and well met!' the Elf before him said. 'I am named Glorfindel; I am the seneschal of Lord Elrond of Imladris, or Rivendell in the tongues of men.'

Daryn bowed his head, hoping he managed to mask the surprise and, he admitted, boyish excitement in his eyes. 'I have one who I believe is known to you and your folk,' he said, gesturing to Estel with one hand. 'Alas, he has fallen ill with the plague that took the last of my fellow townsfolk only yesterday.'

Glorfindel stepped forward, concern etched into his features. 'Estel?' He placed a hand on the dry forehead of the man. 'How long has he been in this state?'

Daryn shrugged. 'We had ridden for several hours before he admitted to feeling weary, but we could not be sure if that was because of our labours, or was the illness setting in. I would say a good eight hours, at the least.'

The Elf nodded briskly. 'I will take him. Thank you for bearing him this far. He is dear to the family of Elrond, and to many others. My lord will be glad to have him back in his House.'

Glorfindel then gave a piercing whistle and stood by the side of the path, Estel lying limply in his arms. To Daryn's surprise, only a moment passed before a great white stallion, much larger than any horse he had ever seen, stepped out from between the trees.

'Come Asfaloth, bear me home!' Glorfindel murmured to the steed. With the grace of the Eldar, he swung himself up, still clutching Estel tightly to his chest. 'My companions will escort you to the House, where you will be greeted by Elrond. Until then.' Glorfindel inclined his head, turned Asfaloth and galloped off into the woods.

Daryn stared after the two until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a dark-haired Elf beside him. 'My name is Belagund,' the warrior announced. 'Follow us.'

Again, Daryn mounted Estel's horse, and flanked by two Elves, they made their way further towards Imladris.

All at once they found themselves out from under the canopy of the trees, and beside a rushing river.

'This is Bruinen,' Belagund explained for Daryn's sake. 'It is known as the Loudwater in Westron. It marks the borders of Lord Elrond's realm. Once we have crossed it, you will be in the fair land if Imladris.'

Daryn nodded, speechless. This was surely the most beautiful place he had ever seen. Budding trees surrounded him, and birds sang sweetly from their perches. Flowers dotted the green meadows, and, far in the distance, he could see great waterfalls crashing down into their pools. 'This is Rivendell?' he asked in amazement.

Belagund bit back a smile. 'You have not seen half of it,' he replied.

* * *

Asfaloth barely slowed as he splashed through the Bruinen. Water droplets splashed up, soaking Glorfindel's clothing. The Elf frowned at the sight of the water disappearing almost instantly into Estel's skin – he was obviously badly dehydrated.

No horse could rival Asfaloth for speed, and soon they were skidding to a stop in the courtyard. Elrond was nowhere to be seen, so Glorfindel assumed that he was with Elrohir. Pausing only to ensure that Asfaloth would be cared for, Glorfindel ran into the House, going straight to the healing ward.

'Elrond!' he called once he was within hearing distance. 'Elladan!'

There was a patter of light Elven feet and Elladan appeared around the corner. 'Glorfindel!' he cried in relief, which soon turned to concern when he saw the state of his brother. 'He has not caught the plague?'

'I am afraid so,' Glorfindel answered briskly, pushing past the younger Elf. 'Is your father with Elrohir?'

Elladan nodded. 'Yes. Elrohir is awake, and worried for Estel. I am sure Adar would not object if you brought Estel in.'

'And I am sure he would,' Glorfindel contradicted. 'I do not believe that Elrond would wish Elrohir to see Estel in this state – your twin would undoubtedly become nearly as bad as you with your guilt problems.'

Elladan blushed slightly, falling into step beside his life-long friend. 'I am not _that_ bad, and you know it.'

Glorfindel just raised an eyebrow, not slowing his gait at all. 'Tell your father that I shall be in the neighbouring room, and make sure you stay with Elrohir. I know he has a broken leg, but one can never be too careful with you two.'

Elladan sighed. 'Very well.' He entered Elrohir's healing room and gave Elrond a slight nod. 'He is returned, Adar, and is waiting for you outside.'

Elrohir, it possible, paled even further at the news. 'Is Estel here? Is he all right?'

Elladan nodded. 'He is here; a little ill, but alive.' As his father passed him, Elladan reached out and caught his arm. 'He is in the next room, Adar,' he murmured, careful to keep his tone low enough that Elrohir would not overhear. 'Hurry.'

Elrond nodded and left the room. Upon entering the chamber next to Elrohir's, he greeted Glorfindel distractedly. 'How is he?'

'Not well,' the Balrog-slayer replied. 'He is as dry as one of Harad's deserts. According to Daryn, he has been ill for nearly a day.'

Elrond was already giving brisk orders to his assistant healers, while listening to Glorfindel with half an ear. 'And is this Daryn coming here?'

'Yes, he is being escorted by the rest of my patrol. They should be here any time.'

Elrond nodded, his hands working nimbly on the fastenings of Estel's tunic. 'We have to lower this fever first of all. Then I must find out what causes the illness in the first place – Daryn will come in handy for that. Do you mind waiting outside for him? Bring him here immediately after he arrives.'

Glorfindel left to do as he was commanded, leaving Elrond alone with Estel and the two apprentices. One of the healers was attempting to coax the man to get some liquids down, while Elrond was mixing a fever-reducing tea. The other was hastily boiling water to sterilize instruments and filling basins with cool water to help bring down the fever.

Suddenly the door flew open and Glorfindel appeared, Daryn following after. Elrond immediately straightened from his position and greeted the man.

'Welcome to Imladris, my friend,' he said, giving a slight bow. 'I apologise for not greeting you upon your arrival. As you can see, I was rather preoccupied.'

'It is of no matter, my lord,' Daryn stuttered, giving a clumsy bow. 'If I may inquire, how is Estel?'

'We are trying to bring down his fever at the moment,' Elrond answered. 'I was wondering if you would answer some questions for me.'

'Of course, my lord. What do you wish to know?'

'Firstly, how many of your townsfolk remain?'

Daryn shook his head. 'I am the only one, Master Elrond. I do not understand how or why I have been spared, but I have been.'

'I see. I am extremely grateful that the Valar saw fit to keep you from contracting the illness. Secondly, when was the first case of the plague reported in your village?'

'Almost three weeks ago, my lord. A young mother came down with it, and before long it spread to her children, her neighbors... It was soon out of hand.'

'I am sorry,' Elrond said softly. 'So have you a guess at what could have started it?'

'Traders came to barter their goods with us, only a couple days before the woman came down with it. They must have been carrying it.'

'Ah.' Elrond frowned in consternation. None had survived the disease, which only increased his worry for Estel. As of yet, Estel remained oblivious of his heritage, but, Elrond reflected, that might have to change soon. Perhaps it would keep him from running into dangerous things without a moment's thought.

'Thank you, Master Daryn, you have been most helpful. A servant will show you to a spare room, if you wish. If you need something, you have only to ask. I am greatly in your debt.'

Daryn bowed a second time, a little more successfully. 'I am glad to have been of assistance, my lord.'

Glorfindel summoned a passing maid to bring Daryn to a guest room. He then walked towards the bed where Estel lay, still and silent. 'I will hold him, you get that down his throat,' he insisted, pointing to the cup of tea that Elrond held.

* * *

In Elrohir's room, the younger twin watched impatiently as his brother paced back and forth. 'Estel is here now, surely you do not doubt Adar's skills? Since when has our father allowed a fever to best him?'

Elladan laughed bitterly. 'Since when has there not been a first time for everything?' he retorted.

Elrohir sighed. 'El, just sit down. Tell me what happened: all I remember is flying through the air after kicking free of Varion's tack.'

Elladan shuddered, the scene re-playing through his mind for the hundredth time. 'That was awful, Ro. I thought you were dead at first. You were so still, and if your head had not been resting on a rotten log, you would have drowned.'

Elrohir made a face.

'Estel and I decided that the best thing to do was for one of us – it should have been me! – to go to the town and try to get help. I do not know why I allowed Estel to go! I should have known that he would contract the sickness. I just... I simply could not bear to leave you, Ro. I wanted to get down to you as soon as I could, and stay there until help came. I see now how selfish I was. If only I could go back in time and change that!'

His brother rolled his eyes dramatically. 'I'm fine. Estel will be fine. You _may_ be fine if Adar forgets about you for the next decade.'

Elladan huffed in indignation and stabbed Elrohir's cheek with the stem of a leaf he was twirling through his fingers. 'Just be quiet!' he ordered, but his lips turned up in a smile when his twin began to laugh.

After a moment, Elladan noticed that Elrohir was having trouble breathing – not a surprise after all the talking he and his brother had been doing. Immediately, his mirth died out. 'Elrohir, stop laughing,' he begged. 'You'll only injure yourself more.'

There was no mistaking the anxiety in Elladan's voice, and Elrohir instantly calmed down. 'I'll be fine, Elladan. I promise.'

* * *

It had taken Elrond and Glorfindel almost half an hour to get the whole cup of tea into Estel, but finally the empty cup was laid on the bedside table. Elrond rose from his bent position, wincing at the pain that ran through his stiff back. 'We can not do much until we see what change the tea brings,' he announced. 'However, a damp cloth on his forehead would not only help to bring down the fever, it would also help to hydrate him again.'

Glorfindel nodded. 'I can see to that.'

Elrond let out a short laugh. 'You read my mind. I am going to go see what Elladan has convinced Elrohir to do this time.'

With a knowing grin, Glorfindel plunged a soft washcloth into the basin of cool water sitting near them for that very purpose. 'I wish you luck.'

 **TBC...**


	14. Chapter 14

**Part XIV**

Elrond entered the room to find Elladan bent over Elrohir, who was gingerly pushing his twin away.

'Leave me...' The protest trailed off when Elrohir noticed Elrond standing in the doorway.

'What is the matter, Elrohir?' their father asked, walking over. 'Are you in pain?'

Elrohir paused. If he were honest, he would have to admit that his ribs burned with each breath, his leg throbbed, and his head pounded mercilessly. 'A little,' he answered. 'But it is not so bad that I cannot bear it,' he hastened to add on, ignoring Elladan's frustrated sigh.

'It _is_ so bad,' Elladan insisted, turning to Elrond. 'I can feel it.'

As Elrohir had known he would, Elrond sided with Elladan. 'Nonetheless, it will be better if you cannot feel it, especially because of your ribs.'

'I wish you would let me be the judge of my own body,' Elrohir snapped. 'Elladan is worried; of course he is going to say that I am worse than I really am.' He stopped to catch his breath, unable to hide a wince as his chest protested.

Elladan's face fell. 'I do not exaggerate, Elrohir,' he assured his brother. 'Do you think I would have the audacity to lie about you in your own presence? To lie about you at all?'

'In this matter, I do not see why you would not,' Elrohir answered sharply. He softened his voice before continuing. 'I know you are concerned, and I appreciate it. But I do not like being knocked out cold for a day and a half, only to wake up to the vile aftertaste of Adar's foul concoction.'

Elrond stepped forward. 'That is quite enough talking for now,' he commanded. 'If you would rather, Elrohir, I can give you a pain reliever, with no sleeping herbs. But if I do that, then you must try to get some sleep anyways. Are we in agreement?'

Elrohir nodded, still struggling to get back his breath after his outburst.

As their father left to get the medicine, Elladan sat down beside Elrohir. 'I am sorry, Ro,' he murmured. 'But as you said, I am worried about you. We have both nearly died more than once, but that does not make it any easier to overcome following incidents. The only things that have ever endangered our lives before this were Orcs and that pack of wolves so many years ago. I never thought that you falling from your horse would be added to the list.'

Elrohir's grin seemed a little morbid, Elladan thought. He had been completely serious, after all.

Seeing Elladan's slightly put-off expression, Elrohir quickly became serious. Taking his twin's hand, he squeezed it gently, hoping to convey his understanding. 'Falling from my horse will never do me in,' he promised quietly. 'I swear it.'

Elrond returned then, one hand holding a steaming mug, the other a glass of water. Elrohir regarded the former item with distaste, a slight grimace gracing his features. Nonetheless, he sat up cautiously when Elrond gestured, biting back a sigh when Elladan hurried to help him.

Much to the younger twin's relief, the tea was effective almost immediately. Before long, he could breathe more easily, and his leg went numb. His head still ached a little, but the pain was much easier to bear this time.

* * *

Days passed, but Estel's fever raged on. Elrohir was able to sit up but Elrond refused to allow him to walk. Finally, at the younger twin's command, Elladan carried him to Estel's room, where he sat for the better part of half a day at his _edain_ brother's bedside.

It was early in the morning on the eighth day since Estel and Daryn had arrived in Imladris. Elladan was dosing lightly at Estel's side, having finally drifted off to the sound of Estel's soft, steady breathing and the singing of the night birds.

Suddenly he started awake. He wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not, but he could almost have sworn that he had felt a slight movement from where Estel's hand rested under his own. 'Estel?'

Silence met his ears. Nonetheless, he pressed on hopefully. 'Brother, are you waking?'

This time, he was rewarded with a low moan.

'Estel!'

The young man's eyes slowly opened, crusted with sweat and sleep. 'El-dan?'

'Yes, it is I, little brother. I am here, you are safe in Imladris.'

A slight smile graced Estel's lips, but the next moment it turned into a grimace. 'Head hurts,' he rasped.

'I am sorry,' Elladan replied. 'Would a sip of water help?' he asked, stressing the _sip_.

'I... could empty... Bruinen,' Estel replied, coughing a little.

Elladan grinned merrily. If his brother's poor sense of humour was returning, then he could be sure that all would fine. 'I do not think Adar would approve of the idea,' he returned, holding a glass of cool water to the man's lips. 'I happen to know that he goes every night to talk to the fish that live there.'

If he had been able to, Estel would have snorted.

'However, I shall see if he is back from his nightly escapades yet, since I believe he would wish to tell you of all the trout, salmon and numerous other species he came across while you slept the week away.' Elladan flashed his brother a smile as he set the cup back on the table. 'I will be back momentarily.'

Estel lay back, completely exhausted. He was stunned to hear that a week had passed since he had been returned to his home. Vaguely, he noticed the door open to his room and Elladan slipped in again, his father close behind him.

'Estel, ion nín!' Elrond exclaimed, relief lacing his voice. 'You worried me half to Mandos!'

Estel blinked his eyes, feeling his strength beginning to return at just the sight of his foster father. Still, he was finding it slightly difficult to follow conversations as his foggy mind struggled to piece back together the last events he remembered – leaving the town with Daryn and gradually falling into the grips of the disease that had killed so many people. His attention was abruptly returned to Elrond, however, when he felt the glass again hovering against his lips. Obediently, he drank some more.

Elrond removed the glass after a moment, not wanting Estel to drink too much too soon. 'How do you feel?' he asked, his hand ghosting over Estel's forehead. 'Your fever has gone down to a nearly-normal temperature,' he announced.

'Tired,' Estel muttered, his eyelids swiftly getting heavier.

'Then rest,' Elrond said, smiling softly. 'And I will be here when you wake.'

Estel drifted off to sleep, and Elrond sighed heavily.

'Is something wrong, Adar?' Elladan asked from where he stood behind his father.

Elrond started. Elladan had been completely silent, and the older Elf had forgotten that he was there. 'No, he is healing as he ought to be,' he reassured his son. 'But I wonder...'

'What?' Elladan prompted, wondering if his thoughts were the same as Elrond's.

'His time draws near,' Elrond replied grimly. 'Before long, he must be told of his parents... of his lineage.'

Elladan nodded, his countenance equally solemn. 'I wonder how he will take the news,' he mused. 'I would not be -'

'Do not say it, Elladan!' Elrond snapped. At the small sound of confused protest from behind him, he softened his voice. 'I share your worries, but I would not have any of us dwell on such thoughts. They help no one.'

'I am sorry, Adar,' Elladan answered softly. 'I did not mean to be negative. It is just... Elrohir.'

At that plaintive sentence, Elrond's face threatened to break into a smile. It was well-known to any who were within earshot of the younger twin's room that he was healed enough to be in a vile mood all day. 'Perhaps you should endeavour to keep your distance from your dear twin until I release him,' Elrond advised. 'It would mean one less person for him to take out his discomfort on, and shelter you from his sharp tongue.'

Elladan let out a short chuckle. He opened his mouth to answer, but the door flew open, startling both Elves.

'My lord,' the intruder gasped, looking apologetic. 'Forgive the intrusion, but Lord Elrohir is bound and determined to leave his bed this moment, whether with your permission or no.'

Elrond sighed, sparing Elladan a slightly-amused glance. 'Thank you for telling me, Tirion,' he replied, returning his sharp gaze to the flustered healer. 'Is someone with Elrohir now?'

Tirion grinned, his dark eyes suddenly sparkling. 'Lord Glorfindel.'

Elladan laughed outright, and Elrond bit back a smile. Elrohir did not stand a chance of escaping. 'I will come immediately,' the Elf-lord said, rising from the edge of the bed. 'Would you mind sitting with Estel? Should he awake again, I do not wish him to be alone.'

'Of course, my lord.' Tirion came further into the room as Elladan and Elrond left it.

The sight that met their eyes as they entered Elrohir's healing room was exactly as they had expected it to be: Glorfindel was standing, ramrod straight and domineering, at the foot of the bed, blue eyes boring sternly into Elrohir's defiant grey ones. His lips were drawn together in a thin line, and his booted foot tapped warningly against the floor.

Elrohir was hardly any different: his cuts and bruises had long since disappeared, and except for the fact that he was lying flat on his back – an unfortunate effect of Glorfindel's stare, probably – with a deep scowl plastered on his face, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, he was the picture of happiness.

All traces of humour gone from Elrond's expression, he hurried to the bedside. 'Elrohir,' he began, then paused until Elrohir switched his gaze from Glorfindel to him. 'You are not yet well enough to be out of bed. I am sorry.'

'I am fine!' Elrohir insisted hotly. 'If you would but take the stupid splint off, I would be back to normal in no time.'

'The longer you keep up this childish attitude, the longer the splint will stay on,' Elrond replied evenly. 'If you abandon this ridiculous behaviour this moment, I may reconsider removing your splint this evening – no sooner, probably later.'

Elrohir's scowl darkened.

'This _minute,_ Elrohir,' his father repeated.

'Oh, very _well_ ,' Elrohir spat, shifting to lie on his side, facing the wall. His pride was already wounded enough – he was not about to let down his angry facade in front of his father, brother and tutor. The movement proved to the three observers that his ribs were obviously not causing him any further discomfort, and that he could shift his leg without wincing.

Elrond allowed himself a slight smile before squeezing his son's shoulder. 'Your brother awoke not long ago,' he said quietly. 'His fever is nearly gone. You may sit with him tonight, if you wish.'

Elrohir shifted ever-so-slightly. 'May I walk there?' he asked, the anger gone from his voice, leaving a combination of loneliness and unhappiness.

'We will have to see,' Elrond answered. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on Elrohir's temple. 'Please let yourself rest, Elrohir. This behaviour only proves how exhausted you are.'

Elladan, Elrond and Glorfindel left the room soon after that. Elrond and Elladan desired Glorfindel's opinion on the matter of Estel's heritage, but were loathe to risk Elrohir overhearing. Of course they would speak to him, too, but later, when the young Elf was not so tired.

'You think Estel is old enough for that responsibility to be placed on his shoulders?' Glorfindel asked, raising an eyebrow at his two friends. 'He is a mere twenty years.'

'Twenty years is not far from majority for humans,' Elrond reminded the Balrog-slayer. 'Estel would be considered a young adult by this time. Though we are Elves, we must not forget that Estel is not.'

Glorfindel sighed.

'I would rather keep him safe and unaware, too, mellon nín,' Elrond continued. 'But it is not fair. As has been said, Estel is no longer a child. And after this event, he has proved his maturity, his quick-thinking, and his skills. We would err to doubt him.'

'Very well,' Glorfindel said after a moment. 'But we should wait until he is completely recovered. It would not do for him to have a relapse because of the shock.'

'Of course,' Elrond agreed, chuckling slightly. 'Now I need only figure out what I am going to say to him.'

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** I am so sorry for the month-long wait, everyone! I got completely stuck halfway through the chapter – and I completely forgot what Daryn's name was! I was thinking, 'Darrell? Trevor? Daron?' I literally had to go back to the earlier chapter to figure it out. On top of everything, we are preparing to move within the next couple months, so updates may come, er, even less frequently until we've settled in at our new place.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We're getting nearer to the end of the tale, which is supposed to be working as a good motivator for me to get it finished. ;) Please tell me what you thought of it!


	15. Chapter 15

**Part XV**

It was nearly a week later before Estel was well enough to leave his bed, and Elrond deemed it unwise to speak to him of his heritage until another week had passed. Elrohir had been told of their plans as Elrond had removed the splint from his leg, and, though he had had his reservations about it, agreed that it was best to tell him sooner rather than later.

So it was that one evening, Elrond summoned Estel to join him in his study. Estel, assuming it was simply for one of Elrond's routine checkups, went right away, eager to have the poking and prodding session over. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Elrond's face was an expressionless mask, and he gestured the young human to a chair set in front of his desk. 'Sit, Estel. I must speak to you of matters of great importance.'

Estel was genuinely confused. He knew it could not have been something that he had done – he had not been out of bed long enough to have committed some crime already. 'Adar?'

'I... It has come to my notice that you are no longer a child, Estel. The way you conducted yourself when Elrohir was so badly injured, for instance. Never before have you shown such presence of mind, or such selflessness. I am sure you knew what you were risking when you agreed to go with Daryn to help the townspeople.'

'What are you getting at, Adar?' Estel asked, beginning to grow concerned. It was unlike his father to stutter and beat around the bush, but that was exactly what he was doing!

'You have never asked about your biological father,' Elrond continued, ignoring Estel's question for the moment. 'And we have never mentioned him.'

Estel froze. It was true: even his mother had never spoken of her husband. 'I... I was told he was a valiant soldier, who died when I was but a babe,' he said quietly. 'Tell me it was the truth, that he did not commit some ignominious crime!'

'No, he was an honourable man,' Elrond assured him. 'And a very good friend to your brothers. The three of them often fought together, and, as I am sure you are aware of, Elladan and Elrohir were present at your father's death.'

'What then?' Estel implored. 'Who was my father?'

'His name was Arathorn,' his foster father said softly. 'And he was a descendant of my twin brother, Elros, who chose mortality.

Estel paled, beginning to connect the dots. 'My father, your nephew... _me_! Adar, what are you saying?' he cried, rising to his feet.

 _That I have a great many nephews and nieces?_ Elrond considered answering, but immediately discarded the thought as heartless. 'Through the House of Andunie, you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur himself.'

' _Isildur himself?_ Adar, that's insane! There is no way... Tell me you're lying, Adar!' Estel fan around the desk, falling to his knees beside Elrond's chair. 'I have nothing to do with royalty, do I? Elladan tells me how rotten it is, having to attend meetings and being forced to appear perfect at diplomatic sessions.'

'I am sorry, Estel. You are the only living heir of Isildur, the only one who can claim kingship over Gondor and Arnor. You are lord over the remnants of the Dúnedain, who are waiting for the chieftain to return to them. But you are still my son, my Estel. We did not name you so for nothing, you know. Without you... I do not know what would have become of my twins. For nearly four hundred thirty years after their mother's torture and subsequent departure, they were ravaged by hate and despair. They rode off for months, even years, at a time, coming back exhausted, starved, wounded, and heartsick. Until one day, they heard that the Rangers in the Angle were in need and went out to assist them. There, they met a two-year-old babe named Aragorn. He stole their hearts, Estel, and because of that same Aragorn, my sons returned to me, no longer seeing the darkness of death, but the light of life. Do you understand?'

Estel – Aragorn – nodded, tears streaming down his face. 'I am sorry, Adar. I never knew...'

'They have rarely mentioned it to anyone, Estel,' Elrond said gently. 'They fear becoming again what they were twenty years ago. Their anger at what their mother went through has never gone away, and never will, but they have learned to put it behind them, so as to give you the childhood you would never have gotten if you had remained with the Rangers.' He rose, placing one hand on Estel's head. 'Now come; I have some things I must show you.'

Estel rose to his feet and followed Elrond to a cabinet that had been locked for as long as he could remember. Fitting a key into the lock, Elrond glanced at Estel. 'Two of these three things I shall entrust to you today, but the third you must show yourself to be worthy of. Here are the shards of Narsil, the sword of your forefather Elendil.' He gingerly drew out two long pieces of steel, still shining in the sunlight and razor-sharp. 'Guard them well.' Again he reached into the cabinet, this time withdrawing a small leather drawstring purse. 'And here is the Ring of Barahir, that signifies you as the heir of Isildur. Be mindful of it, for it once belonged to Finrod Felagund himself.' The final item in the cabinet was a long, silver rod, ornately decorated with green and silver gems.

'The Sceptre of Annúminas,' Estel breathed, his face white and eyes wide. 'I do not want it.'

'That is well,' Elrond said, running a finger over one of the jewels. 'For this is what you must earn. Once you have been crowned king, I shall render it unto you, but until then, it shall remain safely hidden in Imladris.'

'I do not want it!' Estel repeated, dropping the shards of Narsil onto a table before yanking the ring off his finger and shoving it back into its pouch. 'I wanted none of this! Take them, keep them! Give them to someone else! I will never be a king.'

'Estel,' Elrond began, placing the rod safely back in the cabinet. 'I am sorry to have brought it upon you so unexpectedly. Perhaps I should have told you sooner, but I could not bring myself to do so. I did not want to take away your carefree innocence, but that innocence is gone – you have fought Orcs, you have seen the damage they can do. You have seen more death than a a man even older than you should have to, and now you bear the burden of a nobleman. I do not expect you to take this calmly, Estel. In fact, I should be disturbed if you did.'

'Well then, do not be disturbed!' Estel shouted. 'Because I am not taking this calmly.' He strode to the other end of the study, breathing hard. Finally he turned back to Elrond. 'Is there more?' he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Wordlessly, Elrond shook his head. 'That is all.'

'Then am I excused?'

'Yes, you may go. Estel!'

The young man turned back to his foster-father, worry clear in his eyes. 'Yes?'

'Do not forget my words, young one: you are ever my son, and my hope. Always remember that.'

Estel nodded once, then made for the door.

Elrond sighed as he heard the latch click shut. He had not expected it to go this smoothly, if he were honest with himself. He was glad it was over, but he feared for his youngest son.

* * *

Estel ran for the private gardens, hoping to find solitude. More than anything, he wished to be alone, hoping to release his emotions without making a fool of himself.

He ran to a towering oak tree and leaned weakly against the trunk, fighting to get his breathing under control. _Heir of Isildur? Chieftan of the Dunedain? What madness is this?_ Desperate thoughts and questions ran through his head, but the only response be came up with brought more confusion. Turning, he slid slowly down the trunk, closing his eyes as the evening breeze caressed his face.

Time passed in a blur, and before long, the sun was about to sink beneath the peak of Caradhras. As if from a long ways away, Estel heard a single elleth's voice raised in song to Elbereth. He thought nothing of it at first, for it was not unusual for the Elves to sing to Varda when the bell struck the twelfth and sixth hours.

For the moment, unpleasant thoughts were forgotten as Estel listened to pure, silvery voice. He could tell the singer was close, probably concealed by the tall birches that grew only a few yards yonder. Suddenly he started. _What is an elleth doing in Adar's private gardens?_ He rose to his feet, determined to unravel the puzzle.

On almost silent feet, he crept towards the birch glade. Any moment, he expected the singer to step around a tree and startle him, but the voice sang on, rising and falling like a waterfall. Peering around a thick trunk, Estel almost fell back, barely managing to hide a cry of surprise.

Before him stood one whom he had often read about: dark-haired, flawless skin, and more fair of face than any he had ever set eyes on before. As of yet, she appeared to be unaware of his presence, for her attention was caught up by the three birds that fluttered around her head, joining their songs to hers.

Stepping away from the shelter of the tree, he called out to her. 'Tinuviel! Tinuviel!'

The song stopped abruptly, and the elleth's grey eyes flew to the one who had come upon her so silently. She took in his appearance, from his shoulder-length dark-hair to the tips of his scuffed black boots. 'Why do you call me so?'

Estel's eyes flickered to the ground, then back up to the lady's face. 'You are not Tinuviel? Then you must be a vision, for never have I seen one so beautiful and otherworldly.'

The elleth smiled, but said nothing.

Estel bit his lip, unsure of what to say. Finally he decided that it would be worse to turn and flee, so he took his chance. 'I am sorry to have interrupted your song, my lady.'

Again the elleth smiled, joy lighting in her eyes. She shook her head. 'Think nothing of it, beg you. But come, are you lost? For these are the gardens of Lord Elrond, and but few are permitted to wander them outside of his kin.'

A pang of bitterness settled in Estel's mind for a moment, for not two hours before, he had found out that he was indeed distant kin of Elrond. 'I am... I am named Aragorn, and I have been brought up as the son of Lord Elrond. But who are you? For it would seem that you also are his kin, since you walk here, too.'

The elleth laughed. 'Have you not recognised me? I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond and his lady Celebrian, and sister to Elladan and Elrohir. I have heard much of you, Estel, and I guessed it was you when I saw you.'

Estel could feel his eyes widen. This vision, the daughter of Elrond? 'I... I had no idea my brothers had a sister,' he finally managed. 'I have heard that men often keep their most precious jewels hidden in times of trial, but in the eighteen years that I have lived here, never have your father or brothers made mention of you.'

'I have but recently returned from the land of Lothlorien, my mother's home. It has been nearly ninety years since I walked through this garden.' She walked towards Estel. 'Tell me of your life here, Estel. I am sure our brothers were delighted to have another to teach their mischievous ways to. I fear I was not much fun as a child.'

Estel laughed. 'Your brothers got me in trouble more times than I care to remember,' he answered. 'But then, I got them into nearly as much.' His face saddened. 'But I am no longer Estel Elrondion, I fear. Your father told me of my heritage soon before I came out here this evening. Now I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, an exiled king.'

Arwen nodded gravely. 'My father and brothers often spoke of you in their letters to me,' she confided. 'I am glad to have finally met you, brother.'

Estel gave a small smile. 'And I, you,' he replied.

The two walked through the gardens long into the night, speaking of their family, and of Imladris and Lorien. Neither were aware of their twin chaperones who had nearly run into them as Estel recounted a tale from his childhood.

Elrohir frowned at Elladan as their younger siblings laughed yet again – they had become fast friends. 'It may have been better if they had not met,' he said softly. 'I am not sure if Adar will be happy.'

Elladan jumped to a nearby branch, his sharp eyes keeping a close watch on his brother and sister. 'It could hardly be helped,' he said, shrugging a little. 'Estel is impossibly perceptive; I am surprised he did not figure our secret out earlier.'

Elrohir joined his brother on the branch, wincing a little as he landed too hard on his recently-healed leg.

'Careful!' his brother admonished, glancing sharply at his twin. 'No one wishes for you to end up in bed again. Trust me.'

Elrohir smirked, knowing exactly what his brother meant. 'You are simply jealous because you cannot save your temper for when you are ill in bed, twin. Do not worry. I do not look down on you simply because you are inferior to me.'

Elladan would have leapt at his brother, but remembered just in time that they were in a tree, and that they were supposed to be chaperoning their sister. 'Leave it,' he ordered his twin playfully. 'We can return to that point, my poor deluded brother, after they depart from the other's presence. Now is the time for subtlety and silence.'

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Estel and Arwen finally parted ways. The twins, fed up with being subtle and silent, breathed identical sighs of relief as they dropped lightly to the ground again.

'And now to bed, and now to bed,' Elladan groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Elrond's two eldest retired soon after, but Estel sat alone in the garden until daybreak, trying to sort through his thoughts and emotions – but in the end, all he could think about was Arwen, the beautiful lady of Imladris.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** I am sorry for the lack of accents on Andunie, but I simply could not get them to work. *scowls* Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**Part XVI**

Elrond strode distractedly in front of Arwen's chair. His daughter was sitting silently, hands clasped in her lap. Her grey eyes were cast down to the floor, but the Elf-lord knew that shimmering tears threatened to spill over at any moment.

'To you was given an immortal life, my daughter,' he finally said, kneeling in front of her. 'Would you sacrifice all that you have for the love of a mere mortal?'

'He is not a 'mere mortal,' Adar. How many times have you said so yourself? He is the heir to a great kingdom.' Arwen finally met her father's gaze. 'I have lived for so many hundreds of years. I have tasted immortality, and I thank Eru for His choice of race for me. It is true: never have I longed for mortality, but Estel faces it. May I not face it with him?'

Elrond gazed down at his daughter, his Evenstar. Silence reigned for some moments. At last, Elrond turned to stare into the fireplace. 'I have ordered Aragorn to leave,' he announced, hardness creeping into his voice. 'He is going to stay with the Dunedain, where he belongs now that he knows of his lineage.'

Arwen rose to her feet, something akin to anger flickering in her eyes. 'You have banished him? Because of this?'

'Not banished,' Elrond corrected, turning to her. 'I will not have the two of you living under the same roof. Arwen... I would not lose you to the bitterness of a mortal death. There is hope for you in Valinor, safe with your mother. Do you forget she who has waited for us to join her for so many years?'

Again, Arwen lowered her eyes. 'Nothing is certain yet, Adar. If Aragorn were to die, then I would sail, Adar. But only after his death would I agree to depart, and not a moment before.' She turned to look at Elrond, defiance evident in her features. 'I will not be swayed in this decision, Adar. It is my choice.'

Elrond exhaled, but said nothing. He knew that once Arwen's mind was made up, there was no changing it. 'As you wish,' he finally said. 'Choose wisely, for often our actions that we most regret are unable to be changed.'

Without another word, Elrond swept out of the room, leaving his daughter staring after him, aghast.

* * *

True to Elrond's word, Aragorn left Imladris the next morning. Elrond and his three children stood on the stairs as the young man rode over the bridge, but only one was truly regretful to see him leave.

Months passed, but no word came from Estel, besides the occasional report that the Rangers sent periodically to the Elves. Arwen had returned to Lorien two months after Aragorn had returned to the wild, and the twins had accompanied her at Elrond's order. Their moods had been darkened by their younger siblings' friendship, and Elrond hoped that the peace of Lorien would ease some of their stress.

They had not remained long, having duties to carry out in Imladris, but on the way back had met with a small party of Orcs in the mountains. Elladan had taken an arrow to his left leg and was currently lying in the healing ward in Imladris, amusing himself by striking fear into the hearts of any healer who laid eyes on him – except one.

Elrond met Elladan's ferocious glare steadily, though instead of matching the expression, he was smiling benignly. His eldest was currently trying to convince his father to allow him out of bed, but Elrond was steadfastly refusing. A snickering Elrohir was watching from where he leaned nonchalantly against the balcony archway.

'I have been treating these wounds since I was half your age, Elladan,' Elrond was saying calmly. 'I happen to know what would happen if you were to rise. You would balance for a moment, pale, let loose a flurry of bad language, and collapse face-first. Again I say _no_.'

Elrohir laughed out loud, causing Elladan to switch his glare from his father to his twin. 'Just wait till _you're_ in this position,' he muttered savagely. 'We'll see who's laughing _then_.'

* * *

Years passed in this fashion. Aragorn rarely came to Imladris, and Arwen did not come at all. The twins travelled between Lorien, the Angle, and Imladris, and Elrohir (to Elladan's satisfaction) got more than his fair share of injuries for Elladan to laugh at. Aragorn's mother, Gilraen, now spent spring and summer in the Angle and autumn and winter in Imladris. She was growing old, and it was during one of Estel's visits that she said goodbye to him.

That conversation was bittersweet, and Aragorn remained in Imladris for the whole season of winter. One warm spring day, he sat silently at his mother's bedside, holding her frail hand as she struggled to breathe.

'It is well, Naneth,' he whispered through his tears. 'I cannot bear to see you suffering like this. Just let go.'

And she did. Within that hour, Gilraen passed, her soul fleeing beyond the circles of the world to be rejoined with that of her long-dead husband. As her heartbeat stilled, her son slid from the side of the bed, broken sobs wracking his frame.

Unexpectedly, arms encircled him from behind, and, startled, he looked up into the kind face of Elrond. 'Lord Elrond...' He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Things had been strained between the two of them since he and Arwen had met, and during his occasional visits to Imladris, he had mostly stayed closeted away in his mother's quarters.

'I am sorry, Aragorn.'

'She held no joy. She was but a shadow of what she was before.'

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, his mind going back to when he had heard those words before hundreds of years before. 'Then it is well that her suffering is over, is it not?'

Aragorn simply bowed his head.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while before Elrond finally spoke again. 'Aragorn.'

The man returned his eyes to those of his foster-father. 'Aye?'

'I do not believe you remember.'

Aragorn looked up, genuinely refused. 'Remember what?'

The Elf-lord nodded knowingly. 'We have not spoken of it for over fifty years. The day I told you of your ancestors, I told you to remember one thing always.'

Aragorn thought back to that day, every word spoken returning to his mind.

 _'Do not forget my words, young one: you are ever my son, and my hope. Always remember that.'_

Aragorn shook his head. 'I believed that assurance to be ended the day I left for the wild,' he admitted softly. 'It would not be unjust for you to hate me now. Surely when you made that promise, you were not expecting me to meet your daughter.'

Elrond smiled sadly. 'I fear for Arwen, Aragorn. She has had few dealings with mortals, but I fear that if she does not leave these shores soon, she never will.'

Aragorn cast his eyes to his mother's still form and another tear slid down his cheek at the sight of the pale, care-worn face. 'I would not wish to hinder her from leaving,' he said softly, knowing it was a lie.

Elrond rose to his feet, laying one hand on Aragorn's head. 'I know it. Forgive me, Estel. It is a father's lot to worry over his children. With you four,' he said, purposely stressing the _four_ , 'on my hands, I seem to be stressing from break of one day to the break of the next.'

Aragorn's face was completely motionless as he watched his father murmur the Elvish prayer of passing over his mother. After Elrond brushed his hand over her face, closing her eyes, the man rose from his knees and, bestowing a last kiss to his mother's forehead, made for the door. His mother was gone, but it seemed his father had returned. He felt strangely peaceful, though: he knew that Gilraen had been old, even by the standards of the Dunedain. As he reached the hallway, he paused once more. 'Rest in peace, Mother.'

* * *

Ten years passed. Aragorn returned to Imladris more often for longer periods of time, no longer feeling as though he was unwanted. It was during one of those visits that he received a message from Gandalf. He and the wizard had travelled together several times, and often sought the help of the other.

The message read:

 _'Strider,_

 _I have news. Meet me at the Prancing Pony in Bree by September the twenty-eighth._

 _Mithrandir_

Estel raised an eyebrow. It was already the ninth day of September, so he had less than a week to prepare – not that he required more, but had it been a few days later, he might not have had enough time. Leaving the training fields where he was watching as Elrohir proceeded to lose the sparring match to Elladan, he slowly made his way to his foster-father's study.

'It would be better to be there early,' Elrond advised upon reading the note himself. 'It would save you the time of listening to Mithrandir's lecture on punctuality.'

Aragorn grinned. 'I can be ready by tomorrow afternoon.'

* * *

To his surprised relief, Aragorn's journey was uneventful. He travelled steadily all day, but, having a whole extra week, did not rush. It was nearing dinner time when he finally made it to Bree on the twenty-seventh. There was no sign of the wizard in the main room when he entered, and upon asking the grudging innkeeper, he learned that the 'pointy-hatted greybeard' had not yet arrived.

For most of the evening, Aragorn sat silently in a corner, smoking his pipe. He was completely aware of the many suspicious stares that were directed his way, but took no notice of anyone. At last, when he was sure Gandalf would not show that evening, he took his leave of the mostly-empty room and retired for the evening.

For all of the next day he waited, too. Several times he walked the streets, searching for the wizard. _Though it would be rich,_ he thought to himself in a moment of humour, _if I could make him eat his own words. 'A wizard ought never to be late, Mithrandir. They are supposed to arrive precisely when they mean to – and when they say they will.'_

But still there was no sign of him. Dusk came again, finding Aragorn waiting inside the gates of the inn's courtyard. Filling his pipe impatiently, he suddenly straightened at the sound of voices.

'Remember,' someone was saying. 'And especially you, Pippin! Remember that the name _Baggins_ is not to be mentioned. If anyone asks, I am Mr. Underhill.'

The iron gate creaked open, and Aragorn hid himself in the shadows of the hedge that screened him from the road. His narrowed eyes followed the four Halflings that hurried through the drizzle of rain towards the door of the inn. Once they had entered, he slowly followed, taking care not to attract their notice.

Three of them moved throughout the room, talking and laughing with the other guests. The dark-haired one, however, sat silently on a bench, staring unseeingly into his pint of ale. The innkeeper, Barliman Butterbur, paused beside the hobbit then, hiding him from Aragorn's view. A few words were exchanged, and a grim smile played on the Ranger's lips as both man and hobbit turned to steal glances at him. He knew exactly what _Mr. Underhill_ was asking the red-faced man, for it had been asked many times before.

A moment later, someone called for Butterbur and, with a last glance at the Ranger, the man made his way to the other end of the room. Frodo took a sip of ale before turning to stare at Aragorn again. The hobbit started as the man's grey eyes suddenly met his. He found himself slowly rising from his seat as the man made an inviting gesture towards him.

'My name is Strider,' the man began without preamble. 'And you must be Master Underhill.'

'I am,' Frodo replied, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's.

'Well, my friend, I will warn you to take care that your friends do not get too open with our rowdy companions. Strange folk live in these parts, and the very walls seem to have ears.'

'Indeed? I thank you for your concern, Master Strider, but my friends –' He broke off as Pippin's voice floated over the din that filled the room.

'And then he disappeared – just like that!'

'Pippin!' Frodo muttered under his breath.'

'You had better stop him,' Aragorn whispered to him. 'And soon!'

Frodo jumped to his feet, and Aragorn shook his head as he observed the hobbit leap onto an unused table. He massaged his temples – a habit he had clearly picked up from Elrond – as Frodo said a few introductory sentences, then started singing a ridiculous song.

It did, he admitted wryly, have the intended result. Everyone turned to listen, and Pippin went silent. He frowned as the song was begun again, the audience clapping and cheering. His eyes wandered over the room, only to be jerked back to the table at the sound of mugs clattering to the floor, ale splashing all over the place, and gasps of awe.

The table stood, empty of mugs, plates, and hobbit. Ale ran down the cracks in the floor, and everyone in the room seemed to be looking at the same spot on the floor. But Frodo was nowhere to be seen.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Not my best chapter, but I always find it difficult to write hobbits. Still, I hope it's okay, and I intend to have the next part up soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Party XVII**

Frodo sat underneath the table, stunned. He had hit his head rather violently on the floor, and the shouts from his former audience simply aggravated the coming headache. Realising he still had the Ring on, he slowly reached over to remove it. The moment it left his finger, the shadowy, wraith-like appearances of those in the room disappeared, replaced with figures scurrying here and there.

He let out a startled cry as he felt himself being yanked out from his hiding place and into the open. However, to his relief, no one seemed to take notice of him as he was pulled unceremoniously into a dark corner – in fact, into the very corner that Strider had been occupying only moments before.

Looking up with an indignant retort on his lips, he forced it back when he saw Strider. The man's face was even sterner than before, and his index finger was pressed against his lips. 'You've done it now, Master _Baggins_. Whatever were you thinking?'

'It was hardly my fault,' Frodo replied hotly. 'You were the one who told me to distract Pippin.'

'Nonetheless,' Strider said softly. He glanced around the room. 'We should continue this conversation elsewhere.' Grasping the hobbit's arm again, he slipped silently from the room, hiding Frodo between himself and the wall.

Upon reaching his room, he threw open the door and gestured for Frodo to enter. He breathed a small sigh of relief when Frodo, in a bout of blind trust, it appeared, stepped into the room without argument. For the next while, he told Frodo of how he had overheard the hobbit speaking to his three companions behind the hedge, and went on to warn him of the black-cloaked figures that had passed through the town.

Frodo listened in silence, but in his heart, the shadow of dread grew darker.

* * *

While Strider and Frodo were discussing these matters in Bree, Elrond was striding through the halls of Imladris, his brow creased in worry. His mind had been on Gandalf and Aragorn all day, and at last, standing on the balcony outside his study, he used Vilya to try to reach out to his wizard-friend.

Vilya started vibrating as its power was employed, and a white light shone from the center of the sapphire. Almost immediately, both Elrond and Vilya sensed Narya, and the Elf-lord extended his senses to reach the Maia.

There was no answer, and Elrond sighed. Gandalf and Narya were evidently out of Vilya's range. A knock sounded on his door, causing the Elf to break away from his thoughts. 'Yes?'

The twins entered the room, immediately noticing the slight pallor of their father's face, and the still-visible Vilya.

'Did you reach Mithrandir?' Elrohir asked, guessing at the reason for the ring's latest use.

'No,' his father replied, twisting the gold band absently on his finger. 'I can sense nothing.'

Elrohir looked away, concern clear in his eyes.

'That hardly suggests that something is wrong, Adar,' Elladan reasoned softly. 'And it is not unusual for him to wander far. I would not worry about it.'

Elrond smiled slightly at his sons. 'Then I will not. Come, let us join those in the Hall of Fire.'

* * *

Days passed, and still Elrond could not contact Mithrandir. Early that morning – it was now the ninth of October – he had received a troubling message from one of the patrols:

 _'Lord Elrond,_

 _The Nine are abroad in this area. Your son and the Halflings are astray in the Trollshaws, but Mithrandir does not accompany them.'_

Elrond set the piece of parchment down with a muttered curse.

 _By the Valar, Mithrandir, where are you?_

He stood motionless for a moment, then made for the door. Recognising an elleth as she walked down the hallway, a basket of freshly-picked fruits in her arms, he called to her.

'Meril, may I trouble you?'

She turned and walked towards him. 'Of course, my lord. What may I do for you?'

'I believe my sons and Lord Glorfindel are down at the lower training field. Would you please ask them to report to me immediately?'

Meril nodded. 'Very well, Master Elrond. Just let me bring these to the kitchen; then I'll be off.'

Elrond smiled at her. 'Thank you.'

* * *

Not five minutes later, the twins and Glorfindel stood before Elrond's desk, listening attentively as he told them of the worrying message he had received earlier that day.

'I want you two –' gesturing to Elladan and Elrohir, '–to split up. The three of you and one other – I have not chosen who, yet – must travel with all haste towards North, South, East and West. I would have Estel and the Halflings found and escorted back to Imladris.'

'Unless you have someone else in mind already, Tathion would be willing to fill the last space, I am sure,' Elrohir spoke up after a moment of silence.

'Perhaps,' his father replied thoughtfully. 'There are few here who are strong enough to face the _Ulairi_ , should you meet them. It makes me shudder to think of sending anyone out on such an errand.'

'If it must be done, it must be done,' Elladan said stoutly. 'Elrohir and I have ties to Luthien herself; Glorfindel has – well, Glorfindel is _Glorfindel_. And Tathion knows how to take care of himself. We will be fine, Adar.'

'Very well; if Tathion is willing, bring him here and I will tell the four of you what to do.'

Elrohir left the study in search of his friend, while Elladan commenced biting his nails, and Glorfindel and Elrond spoke together in low tones.

It was only a matter of moments before the door opened again and Elrohir entered, Tathion close behind him.

'My lord,' the warrior acknowledged, bowing to Elrond. 'I would be happy to be of any assistance to you.'

'I am glad to hear it,' Elrond said, gesturing the four Elves to seats. 'Tathion, in case Elrohir has not already filled you in –'

'I have, Adar.'

Raising his eyebrow at the source of the interruption, Elrond continued. 'Well, then.' Taking an empty crystal wine goblet from his desk, he dropped four slips of parchment into it. 'Each of you will pick out a slip, which will tell you in which direction you will be travelling.' He handed the goblet to Glorfindel.

Pulling the top slip out, Glorfindel glanced down at it. 'West.'

In the same manner, it was decided that Elladan would go North, Elrohir South, and Tathion would make towards the East.

'When do we start?' Glorfindel asked.

'Within the hour,' the Peredhel answered, turning back to his desk. 'Glorfindel, the road runs through your area to the Bridge. It is possible that the Enemy will have posted guards there, hoping to cut Estel off, should he get that far. Be on your guard. Should any of you meet _them,_ at no cost reveal yourself, unless they have found Estel and the Halflings.'

Soon after, the four Elves led their horses over the bridge that spanned the river. Glorfindel gave them further orders, and then they separated, each going their assigned direction.

* * *

Elrohir rode steadily for two days, ears taking in every noise that echoed off the tree trunks. Thus far, he had seen no traces of either the Riders or his foster brother. Nonetheless, he was very aware of the evil presence that lingered in the woods. The breeze blew cold against his face, the birds were silent, and he rarely saw any creatures scuttling over the forest floor.

Suddenly, he drew his horse sharply to a halt. A faint snuffling sound came to his ears, still quite a distance away. Quickly dismounting, he led his horse into a thick bush a ways from the path, a gentle command bringing the roan to a lying position, in order to keep the animal out of sight better. He himself climbed lightly into a tree closer to the road, high enough not to be easily detected, yet low enough to be able to see clearly.

Only a moment passed, during which Elrohir swore he could detect faint hoof-falls, before the trespasser appeared. Faceless and robed entirely in black, the Ringwraith – Elrohir had no doubt of what it was – swayed back and forth in the saddle. A chilling fear wove around Elrohir's heart as the red-eyed horse and its rider drew nearer to his hiding place. His fingers wrapped around one of the branches in a vice-like grip, and he pressed his back against the trunk, willing his mare to remain calm.

To his terror, the wraith stopped his horse right underneath where Elrohir was hiding. With a hiss, the cloaked rider slid out of the saddle, crouching near the ground. Slowly, Elrohir moved his arm up and pulled the hood of his cloak – a gift from his daernaneth for his last begetting day – over his head, concealing his dark hair. With the same slow movements, he wrapped the green-grey fabric around his torso and legs, successfully melting into the tree.

Turning his head to the side, he did not see the wraith raise itself to a standing position, but he could feel the piercing gaze pass over his body as the rider ran searching eyes – if it even had eyes – over the tree.

 _It senses me,_ Elrohir thought desperately. _Valar, it will find me!_

Even as Elrohir's faith in his grandmother's handiwork began to crumble, the wraith let out a mind-chilling shriek, and as it did so, Elrohir's mouth opened in a silent scream. The cry of the Ringwraith seemed to overcome the rest of his senses, leaving him devoid of breath and trembling uncontrollably.

The wail subsided and when Elrohir finally dared to turn his head back towards the Nazgul, it was back on its horse. With a sharp kick to the sides of the mount, the horse and rider continued down the path, and the snuffling sounds resumed.

Moments passed before Elrohir left the tree. When he finally did, he whistled shakily to his horse, but his eyes never left the path.

There was a slight rustling and he finally turned to the trembling mare beside him. Raising his hand to her mane, he whispered soothingly, 'Sidth, Anwen, agoreg vae.'

Once Anwen had calmed down, he leapt onto her back, nudging her into a trot. 'We must find Estel, Anwen. He is here somewhere. He _must_ be.'

* * *

Glorfindel sighed as he prepared to break up his camp at sunrise. It was the second day of his search, the eleventh day of October, and he had yet to see a trace of Estel. He was moving cautiously now, as he was nearing the Bridge of Mitheithel, where he was sure he would finally come across trouble.

The Bridge was easy to hold, and a convenient place at which to stage an ambush, which was why both Glorfindel and Elrond were convinced that that was where there would be sentries. Even as Glorfindel, travelling on a less-used path that ran parallel to the main road, drew nearer to the Last Bridge, he sensed the presence of the wraiths. After all, it was not the first time he had faced them; indeed, he had thwarted the Witch-King of Angmar's plans when they had fought together at the Battle of Fornost, hundreds of centuries before.

As the bridge came into sight, he slowed Asfaloth, but made no effort to hide the tinkling of the silver bells that adorned the tack. Abandoning the lesser-used path, he rode out onto the road in plain sight of the Ringwraiths.

At the sight of the glowing Elf-lord cantering down towards them, two of the three wraiths retreated to the far end of the bridge. The third, however, screamed defiantly, the horse rearing back on its rear hooves.

Glorfindel did not slow his pace, but continued steadily forward. In a return display of defiance, he drew his sword from its sheath, and held it up, the polished steel and mithril glittering in the sunlight. 'Fall back, servants of Sauron!' he challenged, urging Asfaloth to go a little faster. 'Return to the land from which you issued, and defile these fair lands no longer!'

By this time, all three Nazgul were gathered in the middle of the bridge. The two that were initially cowed by the Balrog-slayer had become confident upon seeing that the Elf was unaccompanied. Still... They remembered this Elf. More clearly still, they recalled fleeing from him.

Glorfindel reached the bridge. He slowed Asfaloth to a walk, and with quiet determination, horse and Elf came to a stop at the beginning of the stone structure. 'Retreat,' he ordered, a blue fire shining in his eyes. 'Or do battle with me.'

Asfaloth took a single stride forward, and the three black horses all took two strides backwards. Asfaloth moved forward again, and the wraiths' horses continued to back away.

'Leave this land,' Glorfindel commanded again.

All of a sudden, the more daring of the three spurred his horse forward, knife brandished. A blinding white light suddenly blazed from Glorfindel's outstretched hand, temporarily blinding the horses and driving them mad. The Ringwraiths again shrieked, this time from fear instead of defiance.

'Be gone!' the Balrog-slayer shouted, urging Asfaloth closer to them. 'And tell your leader, the Lord of Angmar, that Glorfindel sends his greetings!'

With the final words, the wraiths wheeled their horses around and galloped madly off the bridge, disappearing down the road. Glorfindel watched them disappear, and started to ride after them. Halting suddenly, Glorfindel slipped his hand into a pouch at his side and drew forth a green stone. Laying it in the middle of the bridge, he again mounted Asfaloth and, confidant that the Enemy would not be returning to the Bridge any time soon, rode off to continue the search for the foster son of Elrond.

 **TBC...**

 **Elvish Translations**

Daernaneth: Grandmother

Sidth, Anwen, agóreg vae: Peace, Anwen, you did well.

 **A/N:** Sooo, here's a slightly longer chapter for all of you! I hope you enjoyed! For obvious reasons, I was listening to the Black Rider theme on repeat while writing the whole chapter. I am now thoroughly sick and tired of it. :P Please leave a note to tell me what you thought!


	18. Chapter 18

**Part XVIII**

Asfaloth flew steadily through the woods, hooves beating a staccato rhythm on the dirt paths. His ears were pricked forward, as though he, like his rider, was anticipating meeting someone or something.

Glorfindel's eyes darted back and forth from one side of the path to the other. The only sights that met his eyes were tree trunks, bushes, and small forest animals. His ears were filled with the sound of wind, birdsong, and the rushing water of the river.

Seven long days passed, completely uneventfully. It was now the late afternoon of the eighteenth of October. Ever since the Bridge, he had seen no sign of the Wraiths, for which he was thankful. However, he also came across no trace of Aragorn and his four companions, which struck concern into his heart. If the Nazgul had found them... But no, he decided. He would have felt it, had something happened to Aragorn.

He rode for a couple hours before pulling Asfaloth to a sudden stop. He could just hear the sounds of voices floating through the air. A smile lit his features before he nudged Asfaloth forward again. The ones he was searching for appeared to be a ways ahead of him still, for even with his Elven-hearing, the voices had barely been audible.

Flying around the curves in the road, and over the hills that rose and fell at intervals, Glorfindel followed the sound of the voices. Without warning, they ceased, and the Elf knew that his presence had been observed. Slowly slightly, he let his eyes rove along the roadside. One side of the road rose steeply upwards, and was screened by shrubs and low bushes. _That is where they will be concealed,_ Glorfindel decided. A slight rustle caught his eye and he reined in Asfaloth. Glancing up, he watched as Aragorn emerged from behind the bushes, a joyful expression in his eyes.

Dismounting, Glorfindel ran towards the ranger, crying out in his own tongue. The two spoke for some moments, their words swift and urgent. Aragorn's eyes darted along the road several times, and at last they both turned to the hobbits, who had, by this time, come out from hiding.

'Well met,' Glorfindel said to them, inclining his head. One of them – Samwise, Aragorn had called him – looked as though he were about to topple over the edge of the bank as he took in the towering Elf-lord standing before him. 'I am Glorfindel of the House of Elrond. I have been sent to find you and escort you safely back to Imladris.'

The dark-haired hobbit looked relieved. 'Has Gandalf reached Rivendell, then?'

'To my knowledge, nay,' Glorfindel answered, shaking his head. 'But I left Imladris nine days ago. It was Elrond who ordered a search, having received a message that the Nine were here.'

The evening darkened as they spoke together, and suddenly Glorfindel noticed Frodo was swaying dangerously. Even as his concerned eyes ran over the pale, trembling form, the hobbit began to sink to the ground. Swiftly the Elf reached the halfling's side and took him in his arms gently. 'What happened?' he asked, glancing at Aragorn.

As the man recounted the happenings at Weathertop, Glorfindel examined the stab-wound thoroughly. 'Where is the knife? Did you keep it?'

In answer, Aragorn reached into his quiver and removed the Morgul-blade, wrapped carefully in fabric. 'It is but the hilt,' he said as he handed it to the Elf. 'It crumbled away when I picked it up after the Wraiths fled.'

Glorfindel took hold of the knife gingerly. 'Keep it safe, for Elrond will desire to see it,' he said at last. 'But do not touch it, for evil spells are wound around it. It is still more dangerous than any of us think, no doubt.' He rose to his feet, still holding the sick hobbit. 'You will take Asfaloth,' he said to Frodo, who appeared to be feeling a little better. 'He will not let you fall.'

'What of my friends?' Frodo asked, his voice but a whisper.

'They shall be in no more danger than they already are,' Glorfindel replied. 'In truth, they will probably be in less. Were you to leave them, I am sure they would be in none at all.'

Frodo was silent, and he did not object as Glorfindel shortened the stirrups for him. Once the packs were rearranged, the group set off down the road in the direction of Imladris.

By this time, the sun had very nearly disappeared, but Glorfindel and Aragorn continued tirelessly on. The hobbits struggled to keep up with the fast pace, and by the time Glorfindel finally commanded a halt, were all but asleep on their feet.

Collapsing on the soft ground, the five mortals were asleep within moments. Glorfindel sat, silent and thoughtful, at the base of a large tree, keeping watch through the night. When the sun began to rise over the mountains, he went to each of his companions and woke them. 'It is time we left,' he said softly. He handed Merry a flask. 'Drink this,' he commanded. 'It is a restorative of Imladris, and will wake you up soon enough.'

The day passed quietly enough. Glorfindel would, at times, call a halt and disappear into the woods for a while. He would return, face grave, and urge them to make haste. So it was that, hours after the sun set that evening, Aragorn and Glorfindel led the exhausted, footsore hobbits to a well-hidden copse of trees off to the side of the road. Here they rested for the night, while Glorfindel again kept watch.

Everyone was still tired when they started out again the next morning. Frodo's colour was paler than it had been the day before, and Glorfindel again passed his flask around. After eating a little stale bread and dried fruit, the travellers set out again, at as quick a pace as the hobbits' short legs allowed.

Unlike the day before, Glorfindel seemed loathe to leave the group to scout the woods – or perhaps he did not feel a need to do so. Nonetheless, he and Aragorn conversed in Elvish a few times, and their faces were tense and grave. It was clear that they sensed evil in the woods, and that the evil was drawing closer to them, not farther away.

They did not break for lunch, but ate it as they journeyed. The tension in the air was palpable, and even Merry and Pippin said nothing as the minutes ticked by. It was in late afternoon when Glorfindel halted the group and ran around to the rear. Listening closely for but a moment, he spun around to face them. Slapping Asfaloth lightly on the rump, he cried out a warning. 'They are upon us! Leave the path, and fly!'

The halflings and Asfaloth ran down the slope, Glorfindel and Aragorn following behind them. Only a moment later, a Ringwraith galloped into view from between the trees, and was joined by another. They immediately saw the six travellers before them, and pulled their salivating steeds to a stop, dust and loose earth clouding around them.

'Run!' shouted Aragorn as three more of the Riders appeared behind them.

In a dream-like daze, Frodo checked Asfaloth, slowing to a stop. Turning around in the saddle, he faced the Wraiths. He could feel their silent command gripping his mind, drawing him towards them... He slowly moved his hand to his sword and, with energy that belied his obvious weariness, drew it from it's sheath, defiantly holding it up to glint in the sunlight.

'Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!' Glorfindel's voice came as though from a great distance.

Frodo jerked around as the horse leapt forward again, and grasped the thick, white mane in order to keep his balance. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him, and knew that the Riders were in swift pursuit. All of a sudden, four more Wraiths appeared from between the rocks on either side of Asfaloth. Two galloped to cut him off, while the remaining two rode towards the Ford.

Chancing a glance behind him, he found he could no longer see his friends, and that already the horses of the Nazgul were falling behind. Fear grew in him as the black horses drew closer and closer to the Elven one, and he could again hear the whispers of the Ringwraiths as they called to the Ring.

'Noro lim!' he shouted, the wind snatching his words and carrying them over the air. 'Elbereth Gilthoniel!'

The Riders near enough to hear his words drew back with furious screeches. Well-trained in case of such scenarios, Asfaloth lengthened his stride and flew between the two Nazgul whose paths were about to intercept with Asfaloth's. They were now ahead of all the Wraiths except for the two who had made for the Ford.

Frodo leaned forward, his face practically brushing Asfaloth's flying mane. His wound throbbed again, and coldness was beginning to overtake him again. The motions that accompanied the mad gallop were making him feel nauseous, but there was no way he would be able to make the horse slow their pace.

Zig-zagging across the flat terrain to make it more difficult for the Wraiths to keep on their path, Asfaloth and Frodo drew closer to the Bruinen. Even as they flew across the bank, the two Riders who had made it to the Ford beforehand leapt out at them from either side. Their screams filled Frodo's ears, but he simply screwed his eyes closed and grasped handfuls of the mane. The twisted face of one of the Wraiths' horses passed so close to Frodo that, had he wanted to, he could have reached out and touched it.

Then the sound of splashing water filled his ears and the soothing flow of water ebbed around his legs. Then he was out of the Ford, and being carried up the steep bank by the war-horse. He had made it over the Ford.

When Frodo looked back, having shakily sat up on Asfaloth's back, he saw all nine Ringwraiths gathered on the opposite bank below him. Fear gripped his heart and mind as the foremost Rider slowly waded into the water, two others following.

'Leave!' he shouted with all his remaining strength. 'Return to your land, and slave away for your master there!'

The Riders seemed to laugh, the sound thin and mocking. 'Come back with us,' the leader retorted. 'Come back with us to Mordor!'

Frodo's fingers clenched around his sword, which he had surprisingly kept a hold of during the ride. Raising it defiantly, he spoke again. 'In Elbereth's name,' he cried. 'You shall have neither me nor the Ring!'

The three horses, by this time having almost reached the bank Frodo was on, reared up at the mention of Elbereth's name. At the same time, the water began to rise, frothing and wild. The horses lost their footing on the stones and toppled sideways into the river, taking their Riders with them. The six remaining on the bank drew back and suddenly seemed to be crazed. They reared and bucked madly as small figures ran among them with fire held aloft.

Frodo felt himself falling, and could not find the strength or will to hold on to the horse any longer. With a soft thump, he landed on the soft grass of the bank, and lay still.

* * *

The hobbits, Sam in particular, fretted as they waited for the water to go down to a safer level. Glorfindel had attempted to call Asfaloth back over, but the horse, for once, refused to heed his master's command. Standing protectively over the unconscious halfling, the stallion stood watching those on the other side of the river.

Finally, Aragorn deemed the water low enough for them to cross. Glorfindel carried the indignant Pippin across, and immediately went to tend to Frodo. Aragorn took Sam, and returned across for Merry. By the time all of them were on the same side, Glorfindel had mounted Asfaloth, Frodo held carefully in his arms.

'Make for Imladris,' he instructed Aragorn in Elvish. 'Frodo can wait no longer. Without Elrond's help, he will fade.'

Sam looked suspiciously at Aragorn all through the quick conversation that followed, and when Glorfindel turned Asfaloth towards the path, he let out a cry.

'Oi!' he shouted. 'Where are you taking him, sir? He's sick, and Strider here can help him!'

Glorfindel smiled slightly. 'There is only so much that _Strider_ can do, Master Halfling. He needs medicine that can not be provided here, and the healing touch of Lord Elrond.'

'He speaks truly, Samwise,' Aragorn broke in, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. 'Rest assured that Frodo will come to no harm.'

Sam appeared little appease, and watched with great unease as Glorfindel rode off, the bells on his horse's tack jingling merrily.

* * *

The song of birds and the smell of pipe-smoke gradually drew Frodo from his dreamless sleep. Opening his eyes slowly, he took in his surroundings, becoming more and more confused as he took in everything around him.

'You've awoken at last,' a gruff voice beside him said, and he turned his head quickly towards the sound.

'Gandalf! When did you get here? Why did you not meet us at the Prancing Pony? What _happened_?'

'Peace, Master Baggins!' the wizard replied. 'You are not to be speaking, Elrond's orders.'

'What Elrond does not know cannot hurt him,' Frodo replied unthinkingly.

Gandalf laughed, the sound low and rumbling. 'I would not be too sure that he will not find out,' he warned. 'But I do not see why I should not answer some of your questions. 'I reached Imladris on the eighteenth of this month, after being held captive for some time.'

'Captive? You?' Frodo asked unbelievingly.

'Hush,' Gandalf ordered. 'As I was saying, I was held captive – never mind the particulars now. After I escaped, I went straight to Bree, but found out you had left earlier that day. From Bree, I travelled here, and here I am.'

The hobbit did not look contented. 'What happened to me, then?'

'You were stabbed by a Morgul blade earlier this month. Had it taken much longer for you to reach Elrond's valley, you would have been beyond even his aid. You have some luck, my dear hobbit.'

Frodo sighed. His arm felt better, now that he thought about it. It no longer ached, and felt warm to the touch. He glanced back up to the wizard. 'And Sam?'

Gandalf smiled. 'Sam is either eating or resting. Until about half an hour ago, he was sitting at your side. Now sleep, for there is a feast waiting for you to attend this evening, and Elrond requires your presence at a council tomorrow.'

Frodo felt himself slipping off to sleep again. The last thing he heard was Gandalf singing to himself quietly. 'The road goes ever on and on...'

 **TBC...**


	19. Chapter 19

The day after Frodo was pronounced recovered enough to leave his room, Elrond called a council together.

'The Ring must be destroyed,' he said, meeting the eyes of Frodo and Gandalf in turn. 'The fate of Arda depends upon it.'

 _Indeed it must be,_ Frodo thought. _But how?_ _I thought it would be safe here._

 _The Ring is not safe anywhere,_ Gandalf replied silently, surprising the hobbit. _If it were, we would not be here, discussing the fate of our world._

An hour passed, but still the council had come to no decision. Frodo glanced around the circle. There were few he knew: other than Bilbo, Gandalf, Strider, and Elrond, he recognised neither the names nor the faces. Most of them were Elves, unsurprisingly, but there was also another man, sitting near Strider, as well as two Dwarves.

 _Speaking of the Dwarves..._ Frodo thought suddenly.

The younger one had risen to his feet with surprising ease for his short, thick stature, and was standing in a defensive position. 'Beg pardon,' he growled menacingly, not at all sounding as though he were 'begging pardon,' but quite the opposite. 'But of course you think your high-and-mighty race is the best to perform the deed, Master Legolas. I would die before I saw the Ring in the hands of the Elves.'

Frodo glanced questioningly at Bilbo, his mind having wandered.

The old hobbit leaned over towards him and whispered, 'Legolas suggested that one of the Elves take the Ring to the land where it was made. Gloin's son, Gimli, is having none of it.'

It was plain that that much was true. Gimli was confronting Legolas, still loudly protesting. Surrounding them were many of the other members of the council, arguing and debating between themselves. Elrond, his twin sons, and the two hobbits were the only ones sitting quietly.

Suddenly Frodo's vision began to darken. Dark, blurred images were passing before his eyes, and he felt his head growing light. _Flames, smoke, charging armies. He was there, in the midst of a great battle, gore and death surrounding him wherever he turned. Finally, out of the darkness before him came a shape: a figure taller than any man, and more evil than the king of the Nazgul. His eyes burned with hatred and malice, and in his hand he wielded a mace._

 _'He's coming for me,' Frodo thought desperately as the dark one came closer. There was no place to hide: the terrain was barren except for the bodies that lay, strewn over the plain. He could feel the evil gaze boring into his back as he turned to run, and he felt the iron claws even before they bit into his neck..._

At that moment, he found himself standing in front of his chair, one hand resting on the arm for support. 'I will take the Ring,' he announced, but no one heard him over the shouting that was still going on. Raising his voice, he repeated himself. 'I will take the Ring to Mordor!'

Silence fell. Slowly eyes turned to him, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. 'Though I do not know the way.'

* * *

'You cannot be serious, Adar. What use can the two young halflings be to Frodo and Estel?'

The council was over; the twins, Aragorn, and Elrond were the only ones remaining in the room. The former were slightly scandalised at their father's decision: what was the point of sending two inexperienced, rather immature halflings on a journey that would almost inevitably end in their untimely deaths? Would the twins themselves not be better choices? At least they knew how to fight.

'Fighting is not all that is needed for this mission,' Elrond replied to that argument. 'Meriadoc and Peregrin came this far with Frodo for the sake of friendship. It is only fair that they should continue as companions. Besides, as Mithrandir has said before, the little people come in handy at the most unexpected times.'

'On the other hand, they can be most burdensome, too,' Elrohir replied. 'They will have to cross the Mountains, and Caradhras is unforgiving. It will only serve to slow the rest of them down if they have to carry the halflings.'

'Quite the contrary, Elrohir,' Aragorn spoke up for the first time. 'Hobbits are most resilient – these four are, at any rate. If I were not your brother, I would scarce dare to say it, but I do not think even you could survive such a wound as Frodo did, especially if it festered for over two weeks. Merry had an encounter with one of the Nine in Bree. He barely escaped, and was under the influence of the Black Breath for a short time. For these reasons, theirs is the best race to undertake this quest. The Dark Lord will never expect such a move. He will prepare for an army, for a second siege. But in his presumption, he will not observe nine small figures working their way into the heart of his land.'

Elrohir's glare spoke volumes, but he wisely held his tongue.

'And if Frodo's young friends manage to keep the group entertained, it will be the better for them all,' Elrond rejoined gently. 'I am sorry, Elladan and Elrohir, but I will not be swayed in this decision.'

'I hope you are not trying to protect us,' Elladan said dourly.

'Do not be foolish!' Elrond reproved him. 'I hope you are not truly as immature as that remark made you sound. Was that not one of the faults you were accusing the periannath of just now? Besides,' he continued, not waiting for an answer. 'I need you two – three – for a different mission.'

* * *

It was several weeks later that the twins returned from the scouting trip Elrond had sent them on. They had travelled together a ways down the Bruinen before Aragorn separated from them in order to lend his tracking abilities to one of the other scouting parties. The twins had continued on to beyond Moria, daring the dangers and memories that Caradhras always gifted them with. From thence they had reached the Dimrill Dale.

The Dale, which had in years passed been quite a busy highway for both the Elves of Lorien and Imladris travelling back and forth, had been used relatively few times since the capture of Lady Celebrian and her party. As Elladan and Elrohir passed through it on their journey, a sense of evil and foreboding settled on them both, but they could not discern from where or what it came. Elrohir had been in favour of continuing to Lorien to seek the advice of their grandparents, but ultimately, they had decided to return home and ask their father.

Now they moved swiftly through the halls, solemn and silent, as they sought Elrond. After asking a passing Elf-maiden, they were told that the Master of Imladris and Mithrandir were drinking wine on the Eastern terrace.

A moment later, they did indeed come upon Elrond and Mithrandir, both of whom rose when the two entered the room. Bowing quickly, Elladan began without hesitation.

'We have returned from whence you sent us, sir, and have much to tell you. But perhaps it would be better to continue in private?'

'This terrace is quite private,' Elrond replied, not quite catching the hint.

Elladan glanced at Elrohir, unsure of how to continue. It never benefited one's physical or mental health to insult a wizard, but pulling one's father forcibly out of the room in the presence of one of the Istari was never wise, either.

Mithrandir, thankfully, seemed to understand their dilemma. 'I will go speak with Aragorn, I think. Thank you for the wine, Elrond.'

Once they were alone, Elladan began again. 'We went down into Dimrill Dale, as you asked us to. There is something there, Adar. We could not tell what it was, nor where exactly it came from, but it must be some darkness that has come to abide beneath the mountains. It is eerily silent, and the place reeks of some foul creature. There are few birds or rodents that dare show themselves, and the trees are falling silent. The Mirrormere still sparkles clear, but for how long?'

'Our trip over the mountain was relatively uneventful,' Elrohir carried on. 'Tell Mithrandir not to risk going under it – Moria may yet be inhabited by Dwarves, but then again, it may not.'

'I will warn him,' Elrond answered after a moment of silence. 'It is the twentieth of Girithron. The Company is to depart in five days. That leaves them plenty of time to plan their route now that you have returned.'

* * *

The twenty-fifth day of Girithron dawned clear and cold. Snow had fallen during the night, blanketing the valley in white. Outside in the courtyard, the company stood silently – or mostly silently. Pippin was talking loudly to Merry, who was busy trying to get his cousin to lower his voice. They were waiting on Mithrandir, Frodo, and Elrond, who were still in the house, receiving last-minute advice from Elrond.

At last the three appeared at the archway. Pippin cheered at the sight of Frodo, who was red-cheeked and more-or-less healthy in appearance again.

'Keep your voice down, Pippin, for Old Toby's sake!' Merry hissed at him. 'We're not in the Shire. Elves like to be solemn and silent, I'm told.'

Elladan and Elrohir, standing nearby, did not quite conceal their amused snorts.

 _Anything but,_ Elrohir thought. Swiftly he bent down and gathered a handful of snow. Packing it into a firm ball, he took aim and let fly.

Pippin cut off in mid-word when he felt something smack the back of his head. Straightening to his full height of four-feet-two-inches, he turned slowly towards Merry who was standing a little behind him. His cousin, however, was completely absorbed in re-packing his pack, and looked utterly blank when Pippin attracted his attention with a suspicious, 'Was that you, Merry?'

'Was what me?'

'Did you just throw a snowball at me?'

'Certainly not.'

'No?' Pippin asked, glancing around. 'Then who did?'

The twins just stood demurely, appearing just as Merry had said: solemn and silent.

'Maybe a clump of snow slid off the one of the tree branches,' Merry said, gesturing to the tree they were standing under.

'Funny it should it the back of my head like that, then.'

Elladan leaned over to Elrohir. 'He is being surprisingly astute,' he whispered. 'Maybe he should stay behind and take lessons from Erestor. He could become a famous orator!'

'Orator,' Elrohir choked. 'Even you, my brother, never succeeded in that talent!'

Elladan looked mildly insulted. 'Well, not everyone has the same gifts. Now be quiet; Adar is within earshot. We are supposed to be solemn and silent.'

The twins sobered immediately as Elrond addressed the company a final time before their departure. The group of nine stood by the archway, well-supplied with food and warm clothing. Each listened carefully to the words of the Elven-lord, though some of the shorter members seemed to have difficultly tearing their eyes away from the warm, inviting buildings that stood not far in front of them.

Aragorn met his brothers' eyes as his foster-father pronounced the traditional Elven blessing. Giving them a grim smile, he bowed his head.

'...And may the blessing of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you. Nai elin silar nif lin am.'

With that, the Company turned towards the bridge, the softly-whispered farewells from the Elves standing in the shadows drifting to their ears through the plump flakes of snow that were once again falling.

Quietly, solemnly, the Elves returned to the House. From then on, life in the Last Homely House was tense, almost as though they walked on a single thread that was already pulled taut, ready to break at any moment.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** I'm very sorry if I have Elladan and Elrohir's scouting trip a little off from the one time Tolkien mentioned it. I couldn't for the life of me find a helpful map, so I had to go with the tiny, impossible-to-read-one that is in the back of my copy of RotK. :/ So if the twins didn't actually end up following Celebrant down to a strange country, I apologise! * pulls hair *

 **Elvish Translations**

Girithron – December

Nai elin silar nif lin am – May the stars shine upon your faces.

(Thanks to Eldhoron for helping me with the latter!)


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to my friend LadyLindariel. Miss you!

* * *

Almost two months passed. Gaiety returned to the halls of Imladris, though it was always tempered by an undercurrent of dread. Any day, the Elves expected the world to darken, the green foliage to turn black from dragon fire, the sun and the moon would be hidden from view by the the endless clouds of smoke that would issue from the realm of the lord of the world: Mordor.

Elladan and Elrohir had travelled to the Angle at the beginning of January, intending to assist the Dúnedain against the danger the roaming Orcs presented daily. As the Rangers were preparing to retire for the night, the low cry of a screech owl sounded, loud against the silence of the night.

Elrohir glanced at Elladan. 'Lorien?'

Elladan shrugged. 'It sounded close. We had better answer it.' Raising his hands to his mouth, he returned the call, mimicking a whippoorwill. After repeating the call twice, he paused. Sure enough, the screech owl sounded again, confirming that Lorien Elves were nearby.

The Rangers, who had paused in their doorways, stepped back outside, curious to hear why Elves from Lady Galadriel's realm were coming to their camp rather than straight to Imladris.

They did not have to wait long. Within moments, three fair-haired Elves slipped out from among the trees, appearing almost as shadows in their silver-grey cloaks.

Halbarad, the cousin of Aragorn and the regent chief of the Dúnedain, stepped forward and bowed courteously. 'Welcome, Master Elves. I hardly expect you have come to us to ask for assistance.'

'Indeed we have, Halbarad,' the tallest of the three Elves replied in his lilting voice. 'But we were told that the Lords Elladan and Elrohir are residing here. We would speak with them, if we may.'

'You may,' Elrohir confirmed, stepping out from the shadow of one of the houses. 'Haldir! How do you fare?'

'We are well,' Haldir answered, clasping arms with first one twin, then the other. 'I and my brothers have come with a message from your daernaneth, the Lady Galadriel. Aragorn has need of his kinsmen, the Dúnedain of the North. He, the Elf, and the Dwarf are in the country of Rohan, whose army is reduced to few men.'

'We will go,' Halbarad replied immediately. 'But I can bring no more than thirty of our men with me, for the rest must remain behind to guard the camp.'

Haldir inclined his head. 'Thirty is better than twenty-five,' he answered, a wry smile playing on his lips. 'I myself would offer to lend my services, but I must return to Lorien with all haste.'

'Elrohir and I shall accompany you, if our father will grant permission,' Elladan said, stepping forward. 'And our sister Arwen has toiled over a gift for Aragorn for many weeks. If it is completed, we shall take it to him.'

* * *

Thirty of the best warriors were picked from the Rangers, and the next morning, after Haldir and his brothers had departed for the Golden Wood, Halbarad, the twins, and the thirty men set out for Imladris.

Taking the shortcuts that the twins had found over the years, it was only four days of steady travelling before they reached the Ford of Bruinen. The sun had gone down about an hour before they came to the borders of the Hidden Valley, but the moon was waxing full, casting a silver light on the rushing water and snow that blanketed the ground.

Not far from the river, they came upon the first border patrol. 'Welcome back, my lords,' the captain cried, jumping lightly down from where he was previously perched in a tree. He cast a curious glance at the group of Rangers that rode behind the twins. 'Shall I send one of my men to your father, telling him to expect guests?'

Elladan shook his head. 'There is no point; we are making for the house with all haste. Our business is urgent, and we will not be staying more than one night anyways. If we must sleep in the barracks, so be it.'

The captain bowed. 'As you wish.'

The company continued on its way, and it was no more than half an hour before the twinkling lights of the lantern-decked trees came into sight. Songs of welcome floated down from the branches as they passed beneath, mingled with Elven laughter.

As they crossed the last bridge and entered the courtyard, Elrond walked under the archway to greet them, bathed in the flickering torchlight.

Thirty-three horses crowded into the relatively-small courtyard, and stable hands rushed out to take them. The twins and rangers dismounted and, weaving their way around the tired horses, made their way to the stairs.

'Greetings, ionnath nín,' Elrond spoke, his voice warm. 'I did not expect to see you so soon.'

'We did not intend to return as suddenly as we did,' Elladan answered, bowing to his father. 'Daernaneth sent us a message through Haldir and his brothers. Estel has need of Halbarad and his men in Rohan, and Elrohir and I seek permission to accompany them.'

'You have my permission,' Elrond replied in a resigned tone. 'But ask Glorfindel, as well.' He turned to the Rangers. 'Halbarad, it has been long since I have last seen you. I trust your wife and children are well?'

'They are, Master Elrond. Liliath is expecting our sixth now.'

'And here I thought I was doing well with three!' Elrond exclaimed. 'I congratulate you.'

Halbarad inclined his head, a boyish grin spreading across his features. 'Thank you.'

Elrond glanced at the twins again. 'Had you sent one of the border guards ahead, I could have had rooms prepared by the time you arrived.'

Elladan shrugged. 'Such a service was offered, but I declined. We were coming here straight away as it was, and we may as well spend the nights in the barracks. We will be leaving at first light, and would rather not wake up every Elf within half a mile.'

The lord of Imladris arched an eyebrow. 'We have enough guest rooms, and I can have them prepared while you eat. I should not wish to put our guests in the barracks.'

'We are soldiers, Master Elrond,' Halbarad said. 'And humans. As Elladan hinted so subtly, our clumsiness would surely wake every Elf within a mile's radius.'

'I suggested no such thing,' Elladan protested in vain, blushing as the men snickered at his discomfiture.

* * *

The group ended up in the barracks, despite Elrond's offers. They were little different than the Rangers houses: sparsely furnished, but lacking no necessity. At the front there was a small room for weapons and supplies. This room opened into a larger one, its walls lined with cots. At the far end of the room there was a fireplace; at the other stood a small wood stove. Lanterns, already lit, hung from the rafters, casting a soft glow over the room, and a fire roared in the fireplace.

The night passed quickly and, due to the sense of security and safety, the company slept deeply. By the time the sun was lightening the eastern sky, they were mounted on horses borrowed from the stables, leaving the Dúnedain horses to rest in Imladris until their masters' return.

Elrond and Arwen had risen early in order to bid the group farewell, and they came to stand on the steps as the riders gathered together in the circular courtyard. In her hand, Arwen bore a tall staff, the upper half shrouded by a dark material and tied with silver twine. Descending the steps solemnly, she made her way to where Halbarad sat on his horse, flanked on either side by her brothers.

'Kinsman of my betrothed,' she greeted him, inclining her head. 'I would make a request of you.'

'Speak, lady. If it is in my power, I will do it,' the Ranger replied, hiding his surprise at the unexpected attention.

'For many months, I have been preparing this gift for Aragorn. Bear it to him, if you will, but do not let it be unfurled except for at Aragorn's command.'

'As you wish,' Halbarad answered, reaching for the staff. 'And in my own turn, I have a request to make of you.'

'I will grant it if I may.'

'Simply give us your blessing, Evenstar, for with it, we will travel all the more securely,' Halbarad replied, placing one hand on his heart.

Arwen smiled. 'You have it,' she answered. 'And my father's to add to it. Farewell now.'

* * *

All was quiet as the small company travelled swiftly down the western side of the Misty Mountains. Nine days had passed since they left Imladris, and they had only come upon two small bands of Orcs that were easily dispatched. ( _Of course, one_ _ **had**_ _had three wargs and Elrohir_ _ **had**_ _almost lost his arm during that skirmish thanks to said beasts, but that was nothing too serious,_ Elladan thought to himself as he sat on watch that night.)

Elladan reckoned that they were about parallel with the west-gate of Moria, though he wasn't quite sure. Remembering the evil shadow he and his brother had both sensed in December on their scouting trip, Elladan sat up straighter and tried to sense if it remained. He felt nothing. _It is either gone, or I am not close enough,_ he reasoned.

Another six days went by and they moved cautiously. They had drawn near to Isengard, and Elrond had warned them of the treachery of Saruman. Nonetheless, as the company drew nearer, they observed that the stone walls, that had before been standing straight and tall, were now reduced to mere rubble, and that the great iron gates had been torn from their hinges and were lying, twisted and destroyed, in the ocean of mud that was now Isengard.

Even the strangeness of the sight did not make them forget their purpose, and they neither stopped nor slowed down as they rode by. They splashed through the Fords of Isen as the sun went down, but they were loathe to stop so near to Isengard. Continuing on at a canter, they rode over the rocky terrain, trusting their Elven steeds in the darkness.

Suddenly Elrohir nudged his horse closer to Elladan's and said something in a low tone. Calling a halt, the younger twin dismounted and lay prostrate, ear to the ground.

'It is so,' he confirmed once he rose. 'We are not far behind them.'

'Then let us hurry,' Elladan said, gathering the reins into one hand. He glanced at Halbarad. 'But hurry cautiously.'

Spurring their horses into gallops, the company slowly but surely began to close the gap between themselves and their unsuspecting quarry. Though the Dúnedain could not, Elladan and Elrohir could finally see the moon glinting off the spear-heads of the riders ahead of them.

'Now we know that it is a group from Rohan, at any rate,' Elladan said. 'Let us hope that Estel is among them.'

Moments later, the Rohirrim came to a stop. Elladan held up his hand, indicating to the rangers that they also should slow their pace. When there was a gap of nearly fifty metres in between the two groups, the company also halted. They watched as one of the Rohirrim broke away from the main group and trotted towards them, his grey horse appearing as a shadow.

'Halt,' the rider called, his voice echoing off the rocks. 'What business have you in Rohan?'

 **TBC...**


	21. Chapter 21

'Rohan? Then at last we have found those whom we have sought!' Halbarad cried, holding his hand up in a sign of peace. 'I am named Halbarad, a Ranger from the North, and I bring word to Aragorn, son of Arathorn.'

'He is here,' a voice cried from the main group of riders, which Halbarad immediately recognised as his cousin's. A moment later, Aragorn appeared from the midst of horses and spears, re-sheathing his sword as he strode forward. 'What message might you bear, kinsman?' he asked as he clasped Halbarad's free arm in greeting.

Halbarad grinned. 'That your wish has been heard and granted. I have with me thirty of your best men, as well as the sons of Elrond, who expressed a desire to fight in the war.'

Aragorn laughed in wonder before turning back to the Rohirrim. 'It is well. These are some of my people from the North, come to lend their assistance.'

* * *

The journey recommenced shortly, and Aragorn dropped back to ride beside his cousin and brothers. They spoke in low tones, often in Elvish. Time went by, and Aragorn's eyes kept turning to the staff that Halbarad held in lieu of a spear.

'What is it you hold, cousin?' he asked at last.

'A gift from the Lady Arwen,' Halbarad replied, glancing at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye. 'She requested it be unfurled at your request only.'

A distant look came into the chieftain's eyes, and for a time, he rode silently, his eyes fixed on the horizon. At last he looked again to his cousin and nodded. 'Bear it for me a little while longer.'

* * *

The night was waning as the companies rode at last into the Hornburg. The men of Rohan and the Rangers of the North rested for some hours, excepting Aragorn, who, along with his cousin Halbarad, disappeared soon after arriving at the fortress.

The sons of Elrond also did not seek sleep, one choosing to wander silently around the perimeter of the camp, while his brother stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the tower that stood nestled against the rock-face.

Eomer woke to the sound of quiet singing. Glancing towards the source, he recognized one of the Elven twins – which one, he could not tell. An overwhelming sense of curiosity washed over him, and he got to his feet. Cautiously, he walked forward till he was only a few feet from the Elf.

Moments passed as the man attempted to find the courage to speak to the twin – he had heard that the immortal beings could sleep with their eyes open, sometimes even while speaking or singing, and the thought unnerved him. Even as these thoughts ran through his head, Eomer's eyes widened in shock as he realized that the Elf had turned towards him, and was now observing him, quiet mirth evident in his eyes.

'Good morning, Master Eomer,' the twin greeted him.

Eomer hesitated only a moment before answering. 'And to you, Lord –'

'Elrohir,' the Elf supplied, a small smile gracing his lips. 'Come speak with me, if you will.'

Eomer bowed his head. 'Thank you, Lord Elrohir.' He came to stand beside Elrohir, hoping that he would not be expected to start the conversation himself.

'Aragorn told me of the manner of your meeting,' Elrohir began in a low tone. 'And he spoke highly of your skills with the sword during the battle that took place here.'

'They are but little compared to his,' Eomer answered, inwardly glowing at the unexpected praise. 'He revealed to me the names of his instructors.'

Elrohir laughed. 'Alas, his tutors were inexperienced in the realm of teaching a young boy how to parry, thrust, and lunge. That, coupled with the endless energy of a ten-year-old child, caused many of our training sessions to end in frustration and tears.'

Eomer smiled at the mental image of the two serious Elf-lords losing their patience with a young Aragorn. 'As for myself,' he said. 'I was trained mainly by my cousin, uncle, and father. My father died when I was twelve years old, felled by a stray arrow in a skirmish.'

At Eomer's words, Elrohir stiffened as he was reminded sharply of the incident of Arathorn's death. 'I am sorry,' he replied simply.

The man gave Elrohir a tentative smile before continuing. 'After his death, my uncle turned my training over to one of the masters of the art, Gamling. There he is, yonder, at the fire.'

Elrohir followed Eomer's eyes to the brazier that stood in the centre of the camp. 'Aragorn does not give praise lightly. Gamling must indeed be a master.'

Eomer's keen grey eyes returned to the Elf. 'Where is Aragorn? I have seen neither him nor his kinsman for hours.'

'Nor have I,' Elrohir answered. 'But he will return before the time we are to depart draws nigh. He is taking counsel with Halbarad in the tower.'

'He has taken no food, and no rest,' Eomer replied. 'Will he not be exhausted on the ride?'

Elrohir shook his head. 'It is adrenaline and determination that has gotten him this far. The same shall see him through.'

As Elrohir spoke, a young Rohirric warrior came up to Eomer and spoke to him in their tongue. Eomer nodded and turned to Elrohir. 'My uncle has need of me. I have enjoyed speaking with you, Lord Elrohir. Good morning.'

Hours passed and Aragorn still had not come down from the tower. It was past noon when Elladan and Elrohir, standing along with Legolas and Gimli, overheard Theoden asking Eomer to bid one of the men to bring word to Aragorn that the company was preparing to leave.

Legolas stepped forward and inclined his head to the king. 'With your leave, my lord, Gimli, the Elrondionnath, and I shall go to him.'

Theoden nodded. 'So be it.'

The four found it easy to make their ways through the rubble and mud left over from the battle. The Dunlendings had cleared a rough path, and so it was not long before Legolas was leading the way up the twisting stone stairs that led to the high, windowless room that Halbarad and Aragorn had closeted themselves in.

Quiet voices came from beyond the heavy wooden door, halting immediately when the cousins heard the soft knock.

'Aragorn, it is I, Legolas,' the Mirkwood prince called. 'The hour is past noon, and Theoden wishes to continue on to Dunharrow.'

The door opened and Halbarad's greeted the newcomers with a nod. 'Come in, my lords.'

Aragorn rose from where he sat at a small table. His slumped shoulders and grey face spoke of a great weariness that had not been there when the company rode into the Hornburg early that morning.

Gimli was the first to speak, displaying his shock at the change in his friend. 'By my beard, lad, what has happened to you? You – you look as though you've seen a thousand ghosts!'

From behind them, Halbarad smiled wryly. The Dwarf did not know how close to the gold he had struck.

'Something like that, Gimli,' Aragorn said, making an attempt at humour as he walked past his stouthearted friend. 'But come, I must speak with Theoden ere he leaves.'

''Ere he leaves'? You are indeed full of riddles today, my friend,' Legolas said, beginning to feel as confused as Gimli.

'My path is no longer with the Rohirrim,' Aragorn said as he ran down the steps, leaving the three Elves and Gimli to glance questioningly at Halbarad.

'He will explain, my lords. It is not my place to speak of what has come to pass,' the Ranger said before going to the opposite wall and taking up the staff that the Lady Arwen had bidden him to bear to Aragorn. Up until then, only the twins had observed it standing mostly concealed in a corner.

Gimli took once look at it and addressed Halbarad. 'And what is _that_? That man has a few too many mysteries woven around him today!'

Halbarad laughed. 'Again, Master Dwarf, it is not my place to say. But let us be swift; Aragorn will be waiting for us.'

The Dunadan was indeed waiting at the bottom of the stairs, but he was not alone – he had met Eomer at the bottom of the stairs, and they were speaking together in low tones. Once the remaining five had joined them, Aragorn led the way back through the debris, Halbarad coming to stand on his other side.

Upon entering the camp, Aragorn and Eomer went immediately to the king, who was already mounted. From where he stood, Legolas could see the expression of the king change from calm to confused to afraid to saddened, all within seconds. A thought occurred to Legolas then, and he glanced towards the twins to see if they had come to the same conclusions.

Elrohir's voice filled his head as he recalled the words of the twin the day before. _'My father bid me tell you to remember the Paths of the Dead.'_ No sooner had they died away before Gimli's took their place. _'By my beard, lad, you – you look as though you've seen a thousand ghosts!'_ And finally, Aragorn's weary, resigned reply: _'Something like that, Gimli.'_

Elladan met Legolas' gaze and nodded, then turned to look pointedly towards the east.

* * *

The last of the company of Theoden had disappeared from view among the foothills before Aragorn turned to the group of Dúnedain that stood silently on his left. Halbarad, at Aragorn's bidding, had told them of Aragorn's plans, and Rangers had agreed to accompany their chieftain instantly, whatever the risks.

Now Aragorn returned to the tower room, this time with Legolas, Gimli, and the twins. Gimli was grumbling and puffing as he entered the room and sat down in one of the few chairs with a thump. 'Will you tell us what has happened since we arrived here, laddie?' he asked gruffly, though the affection and concern in the Dwarf's eyes was obvious to Legolas.

Aragorn smiled tiredly. 'As you wish, for I see it will go ill for me if I do not relieve all of you from your worry.' He met Legolas' and Gimli's eyes for a moment. 'I have mastered the seeing-stone of Orthanc, bending it to my will.'

'You have revealed yourself to _him_ with that bauble of Saruman's?' Gimli asked, jumping up from his chair.

'If revealing myself to the Dark Lord is an asset to him, then indeed I have misjudged. But I do not think it will help him. It will be a blow to his confidence, and, hopefully, that blow will buy us some more time. As the heir of Isildur, the stones are my right, and I deemed I had the strength to claim this one. I was correct.'

'What did you see?' Legolas asked, having been silent up until now.

'Minas Tirith will not last long if reinforcements do not arrive soon – perhaps only a week. All of Theoden's men will not be nearly enough to hold back the army that the Dark Lord has been amassing. We must bring an army of our own.'

'An army of thirty men?' Gimli asked doubtfully. 'Rangers they may be, but even that will not get us far.'

'I did not say I meant the Rangers,' Aragorn replied, rising from his chair. He glanced towards his foster brothers. 'My road now becomes all the more dark and dangerous. I will take the Paths of the Dead. I do not ask any of you to accompany me, for it is true that great peril lies before any who dare trespass in the realms of the Dead.'

Elladan pushed himself away from the wall. 'Are you suggesting that the four of us are soft, gwador?' he asked, only half-teasing. 'We have all faced peril since long before you were born. I, at any rate, shall follow you to Barad-dur and back.'

Aragorn gave him a small smile. 'Let us hope it does not come to that.'

* * *

The rest of the day passed swiftly. Aragorn led his small company swiftly across the plains, and in the early afternoon of the next day, they came to Edoras.

'Greetings, my lords,' one of the guards welcomed as the Rangers drew near. 'Theoden King has yet to return from the Hornburg. Nonetheless, I know he would not have you leave without at least a short rest.'

'Thank you,' Aragorn replied, dismounting. 'I am afraid we can only stay here for a meal, and then we must continue on our way.'

The man nodded. 'By all means.' He gestured for two of his companions to open the great doors. 'I will accompany you to the Hall, should you wish.'

As the group ate, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli recounted the tale of the battle at the Hornburg to the guards. As he finished speaking, he rose to his feet. 'We must be off, now,' he announced. 'The need and peril of Gondor is great.'

* * *

That evening they rode into Dunharrow, and the Lady Eowyn was there to greet them. Again Aragorn was obliged to tell of the battle, and Eowyn listened attentively. When it was finished, she rose from where she sat by the brazier.

'You must be tired, my lords. I will show you to your housing, and in the morning we will speak more.'

Aragorn shook his head. 'Our errand is urgent,' he said quietly. 'We must leave as soon as may be, for on the morrow I will take the Paths of the Dead.'

The White Lady paled and she grasped the back of her chair for support. 'They will not allow you passage,' she said, her face betraying her grief. 'Beneath that mountain is the kingdom of the Dead, and none of the living are permitted to travel their road.'

'They will permit me,' Aragorn said gently, inclining his head to her. 'But you speak truly: we are tired, and we must leave early. Therefore, I will bid you a good night.'

Eowyn nodded, still shocked at Aragorn's revelation. Leading the silent group to the cluster of small huts that they were to occupy for the night, she hesitated at the door of the one Aragorn was sharing with Legolas and Gimli. As the Ranger was about to walk past her, she laid a hand on his arm.

'Must you take that road?' she asked pleadingly. 'It is useless – my uncle will be glad of your help in the battle at Minas Tirith. Do not throw your lives away in this manner!'

'We do not so,' Aragorn answered, meeting her gaze. 'Though I thank you for your concern. They _will_ permit me to pass, and my companions with me.'

'Let me become one of them, then!' Eowyn cried. 'I wish to find renown in action, not in remaining here in safety. I am no dry-nurse. I want to fight!'

'It is not in my power to give you permission,' Aragorn replied. 'And we cannot wait for your brother and uncle to return.' He took her hand in his. 'Eowyn, honour is not only to be found in battle or courageous acts. Even if I were to allow you to accompany me, you would find no honour or renown, for what is there besides disgrace in an act of disobedience to your king?'

Eowyn was silent as she studied his face. 'You would have me remain here, then,' she said dully, turning away.

'Your time will come, my lady,' Aragorn said softly before turning to the inviting warmth of the hut. 'Good night.'

* * *

Elladan was restless. His ears picked up the small sigh that Elrohir gave when the older twin rose for the third time to pace across the hut.

'If you must do that, Elladan, can you not go outside where you will not drive the two of us to distraction?'

Elladan looked towards Elrohir, then at Halbarad with whom they were sharing the hut. 'Very well,' he finally said.

The sounds of the night creatures seemed to calm him, and he stood still for some time, listening. Sitting down on a smooth boulder, he drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them as he quietly hummed to himself.

Time passed as he watched the moon slowly travel across the dark sky. He glanced behind him when he felt the presence of his twin and scooted over on the rock to make room for Elrohir. 'You cannot sleep either?' he asked as Elrohir joined him.

His brother shook his head. 'I have been thinking of Estel.'

Elladan nodded. 'I also.' He laughed, the sound bitter. 'Estel and our sister.'

Elrohir sighed. 'Have you not forgiven him?' he asked quietly.

'Forgiven him, Elrohir? Arwen will die because of him. I do not know if I will ever be able to forgive him.'

'Arwen loves him,' Elrohir rejoined. 'If Estel dies, Arwen will follow, whether or not they are married. We have known it ever since she revealed to us that they had plighted their troth. To retain anger towards Estel will only hurt her.'

Elladan shook his head. 'I did not say I am angry with him,' he answered. 'To go to war was not the only reason I rode with Halbarad, Elrohir.'

'And what were your further reasons, pray?' demanded Elrohir. 'Tell me, Elladan!'

'To support him in his endeavours,' Elladan answered slowly. 'To show him that I bear him no ill will pertaining to his... betrayal. And to ensure that our sister will not die for naught but a memory of the one she bound herself to.'

'Our presence does not ensure that Estel will survive this mess, Elladan,' Elrohir said, his voice once again quiet. 'Say instead that we will give our own lives if doing so will save Estel's.'

Elladan was silent for a moment. 'We have been thinking only of Arwen,' he said at last. 'But what of Adar?'

Elrohir nodded. 'Instead of it being a case of 'all or none,' it is 'all or two.' Either we all live, or two of us die – whether it is you and me, or Arwen and Estel. Adar has faced the cruelty of fate all through his life, and now I fear that the four of us are tools in creating yet another blow.'

The older twin rose from the boulder and held out his hand to Elrohir. 'Let us just concentrate on keeping all four of us alive, then.'

Hand-in-hand, the twins made their way back to their beds.

* * *

The next morning dawned clear and cold. The company ate a silent breakfast, made up of dried fruit and meat and a little water from their flasks. As they prepared to depart, Eowyn came from within the hall, bearing a silver goblet half-filled with mead. Dressed in armour, her hair was pulled back and she met his gaze as he took the proffered cup.

'I beg you to reconsider,' she said quietly.

'I will not, lady,' Aragorn answered. 'Again I say, it is not my place.'

'You do not speak thus to any of these, your comrades,' she cried. 'They would be parted from you, for they love you!'

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. 'I cannot betray Theoden and Eomer,' he said resolutely. 'I am sorry, Eowyn. Farewell.'

Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed to her before turning and leaping into onto his horse.

As the company rode off into the distance, Eowyn stood, straight and tall, watching till she could not longer see them. With a shaky sigh, she turned her gaze to the cup of mead she again held. Moving to hold it out in front of her, she slowly tipped it on its side, watching as the clear liquid drizzled out onto the ground.

Once the last drop had fallen, she turned and swiftly returned to the hall, head bowed and shoulders shaking.

 **TBC...**

 **Gwador** , as I am sure everyone is aware of, is Elvish for brother of the heart.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** So, first of all, I am sorry if this chapter is a little out of style and rather all over the place. I wrote most of it a couple months ago, forgot completely about it until yesterday, and it took me forever to figure out where the Grey Company was on which dates and all that rot when I finally got back to it this afternoon.

Also, just be warned that there is slight violence near the end of this chapter. It isn't too graphic, but I thought I'd mention it here, all the same.

* * *

It was only a short ride of about thirty minutes till the company of Aragorn came to the Dimholt. Black, motionless trees rose on either side of them, and a stale smell arose from the ground beneath their horses' hooves.

At last they came out from under the unnerving canopy of branches, and found themselves at the very base of the mountain. Into the rock was carved a large entrance, high enough for riders to pass through without ducking, and wide enough for two to ride abreast.

The horses, loyal though they were, refused to enter the mountain, so at length their masters dismounted and led them. Once they were all standing just inside the mountain, Aragorn called a halt and freed two torches from where he had secured them beside his saddle.

'This place feels even grimmer than Moria,' Gimli muttered. 'Is there one more fell than the balrog itself that hides here?'

No one answered out loud, but the Dwarf felt the light pressure of Legolas' hand come to rest on his shoulder.

A spark flared up for an instant at the head of the group, from where Aragorn and the twins were lighting the torches. After both were burning well, sending a dim light that glanced off the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, Elladan and Elrohir made their way to the back of the group, Elladan bearing one of the torches.

In the darkness of the mountain, it was nigh on impossible to keep count of the hours as they went by. Every so often, the company would halt for a short rest. Whispers and strange echoes would fill their ears, causing unease and fear to fall on all of them like cloaks. Nonetheless, they met with no resistance, though they knew that they were surrounded by the eerily-silent inhabitants of the mountain.

During one such resting period, Aragorn conferred quietly with Legolas. The Elven-prince, having lived his entire life in a cave-like palace, had a slight idea of the current time. 'I would say that nearly six hours have passed since we entered this mountain,' he said softly, mindful that the Dead were listening. 'Though I cannot be sure that I am correct.'

'We should continue on, then,' Aragorn decided, rising to his feet. 'I do not know how much farther it is till we reach our destination.'

Barely three quarters of an hour later, sunlight appeared in the distance, and the company hurried their pace, everyone eager to be rid of the smothering darkness. At last, they found themselves standing in soft, green grass instead of the dismal stone road that led through the mountain.

Leaping onto Roheryn's back, Aragorn rode partway down the long column of men, Elves, and the single Dwarf. 'Ride hard!' he cried. 'We are yet far from the Stone of Erech, and the day is passing swiftly! Ride hard!'

Gimli, again sitting behind Legolas on Arod's back, looked around in curiosity as they flew over the grassy plains. 'Do you have any idea as to where we are, Legolas?' he asked at last. ''Tis a welcome change from that accursed mountain, but do these people not live in fear of the Dead?'

'Do you not see how they cower in their houses?' Legolas answered, the wind carrying his voice back to the Dwarf. 'They saw us come from the mountain, and they dread us. As to where we are, the river yonder is a branch of the Morthond, or the Blackroot, in the common tongue. It will be our guide to Erech.'

Time passed quickly as they rode almost unceasingly over the hilly terrain. Noon had passed a little before they emerged from the mountain, and now it was nearing dusk. As the sun set on their right, the Company again halted to rest their steeds and to eat a hurried meal. As soon as all were finished, Aragorn again impressed on them the necessity to continue the journey.

'Minas Tirith will not stand for long, even if Theoden musters every man in Rohan. I have seen the might of the enemy, and he will crush them like wheat underneath the grindstone if further help does not come.'

Dark fell, and still they rode. Unlike that of the mountain, the night's darkness was cool and refreshing, and the stars and the waxing moon cast sufficient light on the path they travelled. Nonetheless, every man was keenly aware of the presences of the Dead that still followed them, and silence reigned over them for the most part.

At last, as midnight drew nigh, the Company reached Erech. Dismounting at the top of the hill, upon which stood the ancient stone, Aragorn accepted the small horn that one of the twin's held out to him and blew a great blast. For a moment there was silence, before an answering horn-call came to their ears, sounding as if it came from a great distance away.

The whisperings that had plagued the Company in the mountain returned to their ears, and from the left of Aragorn came a thin, wavering hiss. 'You have come this far, trespassers, and until this moment we have permitted you to live, but now you must die. For none but the heir of Isildur himself may summon us.'

Aragorn slowly drew Anduril from its sheath and held it up, the steel glittering in the starlight. 'I am he. I have come to remind you of the oath you took, swearing fealty to Isildur and to his descendants.' As he spoke, he nodded towards Halbarad, and the Ranger loosed the bindings that had before restrained the Lady Arwen's banner. Silver threads gleamed as the image of the white tree of Gondor became visible, crowned with stars.

The whispers increased, and the king spoke a second time. 'What would you have us do?'

'Redeem yourselves, and I shall release you from your pledge. Come to war with me, and you shall live for the rest of time in peace, under your mountain.'

'We shall come,' the king answered after a long pause.

* * *

Both horses and riders were wearied from their journey, but few of the latter could find rest, filled with such dread as they were. After all, the Dead had broken their oath once, and nothing but the promise of peace kept them from breaking it once again. If the Dead decided to turn against them, there was little any of them could do to protect themselves from death.

The next morning, they rose again at dawn. It was Aragorn's plan to travel East until they reached Pelargir on the Anduin, capture a fleet, and sail upriver to Minas Tirith. Riding swiftly and pushing their horses to the limits of their strength, the Company rode nearly a hundred miles that day, stopping at last to camp for the night at Calembel. The three Rangers Aragorn sent out to scout out the nearby village came back to report that the place was deserted: the inhabitants had either fled into the hills, or gone to join the wars.

The morning of the tenth of March dawned, but the sun did not show. Dark clouds, nearer to black than grey, covered the sky for as far as even Legolas' eye could see, and a sense of evil far worse than the Haunted Mountain settled over every man's heart.

'This is not natural, Legolas, or I am a cow,' Gimli muttered to Legolas as they continued their ride. 'The air is so thick I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.'

'It is part of the Dark Lord's master-plan,' Aragorn answered from where he rode in front of them. 'His armies cannot abide daylight, so he provides cover for them. You will not see the light of the sun for many a day, Master Gimli.'

'It will affect Legolas far more than it will me,' the Dwarf replied. 'But all the same, it is unnerving.'

For the most part, the Company rode in silence, the chill, unclean air filling their senses with loathing and fear. The spirits of those long dead hemmed them in from behind, while one of the many spells of Sauron closed in on them from the front and sides. Aragorn was tense and frustrated, for the the clouds of Mordor were so dense that it prevented the Company from riding more swiftly than a canter.

Three hours after setting out, the Company crossed the river Ringlo. Using the river as a landmark, Aragorn estimated they had at least another six-score miles to travel before they reached Lebennin. Cursing in frustration, he momentarily courted the idea of leaving the road and cutting through the seemingly-endless land in a straight line. He discarded this thought as foolhardy – in this cloud, they would get lost in an instant.

Continuing on at the same steady pace, the Company managed to cover another sixty miles before stopping for the night. Altogether, they had ridden for nine hours and made ninety miles of headway.

Aragorn sat down beside the twins that night after most of the other Rangers had gone to find what rest they could. He had barely spoken with them for the past two days, since they had remained near the back of the column, serving as the rear-guard.

'How do you fare, gwadyr?' he asked softly.

'We are well,' Elladan answered. 'But this Valar-forsaken fog may drive me insane yet.'

'It is slowing us down more than I should care to think about,' Aragorn replied. 'We should have gotten farther today.'

'We will make it in time, Estel,' Elrohir said quietly. 'As it is said in Rohan, I believe, 'Need brooks no delay, yet late is better than never.''

'I would not confine it to Rohan,' Elladan said wryly, making an attempt at humour. 'Was it not our motto growing up, when we reached the dinner table five minutes late nearly every evening?'

His younger brothers grinned, Elrohir at the memory, and Aragorn at the mental picture that came to mind. Satisfied that he had distracted his mortal brother – even if it was for just a moment – from what was at hand, Elladan rose smoothly to his feet. 'I am going to speak with Halbarad, if I can find him.'

As Elladan disappeared, Aragorn sobered. 'He is as I have always remembered him,' he said at last. 'One moment he is as serious as – as Erestor, and the next, he is trying to make us laugh.'

'He is not as he always was,' Elrohir said absentmindedly. 'I remember a time when he was much different...'

Aragorn looked at Elrohir quizzically. The twins rarely spoke of their past, and now they had done so twice within five minutes. 'Oh?' he asked, trying not to show how curious he was – he was, after all, eighty-eight – way too old to be curious about one's brothers.

'Indeed,' Elrohir continued. 'There was a time when 'serious' was a foreign word to my twin. 'Be serious' meant 'pull a face at Adar when he is making a speech' or 'drop my knife on the floor and try to place the blame on an Elf at the other end of the table.''

Aragorn laughed out loud, earning several surprised looks from those near enough to be able to actually see the two. He stood up and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. 'Thank you, Elrohir. Good night.'

* * *

The cloud was, if possible, even darker the next morning. Setting out through the dismal, spirit-quenching fog, Aragorn led the Rangers over the well-trodden road, heading towards Linhir.

Though the fog was denser than the day before, the road was smoother and did not curve as much, so the Company ended up making better time. They reached Linhir in two hours and crossed the River Gilrain into Lebennin.

Legolas looked around uneasily. He had heard of the beauty of these lands, but the clouds of Mordor made it impossible to see them. More than once they came to abandoned villages, where sometimes the odd cat or chicken would stumble up to them through the blanket of fog.

It was now the fourth day since he had summoned the Dead, and they were swiftly running out of time. Aragorn was grateful that they were making better time than they had the day before, but one thought kept nagging at the back of his mind: he had promised Boromir before the man's death that he would save Minas Tirith, that he would not let their people fall.

Two more days passed in this fashion. Aragorn's mood was grim and he said little to anyone, even Halbarad and his foster brothers. It was the thirteenth of March, and they were drawing near to Pelargir. To Aragorn's relief, the fog had lifted somewhat, and finally Legolas could catch glimpses of the Anduin flowing by, silent and grey.

'There is a great fleet at the quay,' the Mirkwood Elf announced at length. 'Including one much larger than the rest – it must belong to the pirates' lord. Whether the ships are inhabited, I cannot tell.'

'Perhaps we have a reason to be grateful for the fog,' Aragorn replied wryly, scanning the twins and Legolas. 'The three of you gives one the idea that there are indeed monster fireflies roaming the earth.'

'We hardly look like fireflies,' Elladan muttered as he strained his eyes in an attempt to see the river. 'We do not flicker on and off. But you are partially correct. We would be wise to conceal our, er, special talent of appearing to be living torches before we draw nearer to our prey.'

As the three Elves drew their cloaks around them in an effort to dim the glow their bodies gave off, Aragorn began forming a plan of attack in his mind. An hour later, it had been decided – with the reluctant agreement of the King of the Dead - that the army of the Dead would overcome the smaller ships, while the Grey Company took over the largest, a great, black-sailed giant, unwieldy in appearance, but swift once the wind caught her.

By the time the plan was explained to the Rangers and weapons were checked a final time, it was nearly noon. As they crept towards the river, mere shadows in the fog, the smell of smoke and tar came to their noses, and flames flickered from across the river.

'The village burns,' Legolas breathed to Gimli. 'Let us hope that the people fled before the Corsairs came upon them.'

At last the Grey Company and the Dead were gathered at the water-edge. In answer to a silent command from their King, the Dead rushed noiselessly towards the nearest ship and, nearly an hour later, returned to those on shore with the report that most of the smaller ships had had a few pirates on board, but most appeared to be sacking the village. The large one, however, was swarming with filthy, foul-mouthed Corsairs.

'Take those in the village down,' Aragorn commanded. 'Leave the ship to us. Once you have finished among the ruins, board the ships and prepare to sail.'

The Grey Company boarded one of the vessels swiftly and silently, and Halbarad steered it skillfully towards the Corsair king's ship. As they drew up next to it, Aragorn used a long pole with a hook at one end to catch the rope ladder that dangled over the side of the pirate ship. There was a gentle splash as the anchor was lowered, but it went unnoticed by those on the larger craft, so rowdy were they.

'Many of them seem to be stone drunk,' Elrohir murmured in his twin's ear. 'That will make things a little more interesting.'

'Indeed,' Elladan replied, equally softly. 'Either they will be slow and witless, or they will be swift and witless.'

'Either way,' Aragorn whispered as he passed. 'They will probably kill more of their own men than they will ours. Get ready to board.'

The Corsairs were indeed inebriated, feasting and drinking in celebration of their most recent success. Arguments echoed from below the main deck, while raucous laughter over crude jokes and songs accompanied the sounds of corks popping. Thus it was that none saw the first grey shadow appear silently over the edge of the ship, disappearing instantly in the fog and smoke.

'The mangy curs never saw it coming,' jeered one of the pirates, arms and chest covered in jagged scars and tattoos. He leapt onto a tottering table and gesticulated wildly. 'We slit their throats before they knew they were under attack.'

All at once, the grey-clad intruder appeared behind the Corsair, a shining hunting-blade held to the man's throat. 'And now you shall suffer the same fate as those innocents,' Aragorn hissed as he dealt swiftly with the man.

Pandemonium hit instantly. A few of the pirates, unsure of what had happened, started laughing and mocking, supposing that their dead companion had received justice at the hands of one with whom he had recently argued – many had met their ends in such a fashion that evening. The greater portion of the men, however, had seen as Aragorn stepped down from the table, melting into the darkness again. Confusion and fear spread as more of the cloaked ones stepped out of their hiding places behind barrels and masts. One by one, the pirates began dropping, killed quickly and cleanly.

The Corsairs, had they been sober, would have put up a greater struggle, but in this case the attackers had the definite advantage. They flitted through the fog, silent and cold, and before long, the last pirate fell.

Of all the Grey Company, only two sported injuries: two of the Rangers had had the misfortune to get in the way of the knives of a couple of the less-inebriated pirates. The wounds were not serious, though Aragorn bandaged them carefully in order to prevent infection.

The deck of the ship was littered with corpses, and Aragorn assigned some of the Dúnedain as well as Legolas and Gimli to remove them to the hold for the time being. Halbarad he asked to steer the ship, while the rest of them, Aragorn and the twins included, used buckets of water from the bilge of the ship to wash the blood from the deck.

For the time being, luck was on their side. The wind was strong and the sails billowed as they were filled. The shores seemed to fly by as the fleet skimmed down the river. For the rest of that day and all of the next, they sailed, only resorting to using the oars on a few occasions.

It was late in the morning of the fifteenth of March. Legolas, having just been relieved from his spell at the wheel, was standing at the aft of the ship, Gimli at his side.

'I freely admit that I had my doubts about those dead people,' the Dwarf said gruffly, nodding towards the group of smaller crafts that followed closely behind. 'I thought that they might betray Aragorn yet, and desert.'

'I thought alike,' Legolas replied. 'But they have suffered much since they broke their oath to Isildur. Aragorn must have known that they would not attempt such deceit again.'

There was silence between the friends for a moment before Gimli started laughing. 'The armies of Sauron do not stand a chance against these ones,' he chuckled. 'After all, they don't have to worry about getting skewered by Orcs or mauled by wargs.'

'No, for the very good reason that they are already dead,' Legolas retorted wryly.

As the distance between the ships and the White City became smaller, the fog again began to intensify, though it remained high enough in the sky that it did not impede vision as drastically as it had only days before. At length, the field of the Pelennor came into view, the sight horrifying those on board.

Patches of green grass were practically nonexistent, so drenched was the ground in blood and bodies. Orcs, Men, and animals lay strewn at grotesque angles wherever one looked, and huge war towers rose menacingly into the sky. As the ships came into the view of those fighting, the Orcs, supposing help had come from Umbar, roared in mock greetings and began to fight with renewed vigour.

Aragorn stood at the side of the ship, torn between anxiety and anger. How dare these vile creatures bring wrath and ruin to his dwindling people, spilling the blood of women and children as they crouched in hiding within the vaults of the city. They would pay dearly for their actions – none could stand against the King of the Dead for long.

He raised his eyes towards Minas Tirith. The city was burning. Smoke and flames billowed from archways and windows, and even as he watched, a pair of trolls heaved a fireball into a catapult and sent it hurling towards the handicapped city.

'Lower the anchor!' he shouted to Gimli, who, with two Rangers at his heels, hurried off to do so.

Halbarad, also at Aragorn's command, steered the vessel towards the stone quay on the eastern shore. Leaping nimbly over the side to land on the wharf, the heir of Isildur drew his sword and waited only for the rest of the Company to join him on the shore.

The Orcs, momentarily confused by the newcomers, hesitated before charging forward with triumphant roars. A few dozen men were of no consequence, and they eagerly rushed in to finish the arrogant fools off.

As they watched the Orcs advancing on them, Elrohir turned to Elladan. 'Be cautious, my brother. Remember Arwen. It is our duty to see that Estel comes to no harm.'

Elladan gave him a small smile. 'You are forgetting Adar again. And as for Aragorn, he has done well enough without us for some time. I will be cautious if you will be, too. Deal?'

Elrohir raised his sword as the Orcs drew nearer. 'Done.'

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** As for the word 'gwadyr' I used for the plural of 'brothers,' I have no idea if that is correct or not. If not, please let me know, and I'll correct it ASAP. And yes, Elrohir stole Eomer's 'Need-brooks-no-delay' saying.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** More violence. You've been warned.

* * *

 _Elladan gave him a small smile. 'You are forgetting Adar again. And as for Aragorn, he has done well enough without us for some time. I will be cautious if you will be, too. Deal?'_

 _Elrohir raised his sword as the Orcs drew nearer. 'Done.'_

No sooner had Elrohir returned his attention to the battle now only a few meters in front of him before the wave of Orcs met the small band of Rangers. Allowing the familiar feel of warfare to flow through him, he smoothly spun his sword, neatly decapitating his first Orc. Continuing the movement, he relieved a second of its sword-arm before its head came to rest near its companion's.

The Orcs, who before had been sure of a swift victory over the arrogant little group of men, were already realizing that perhaps they had underestimated the skill of their foes. Nonetheless, their mocking jeers continued, mainly in the hopes of intimidating the Rangers and making them easier targets. Suddenly, though, the guttural war-cries and oaths stemming from the front lines of the Orcs morphed into shrieks of terror as the Dead made themselves known.

Pouring over the sides of the ships, the shadowy figures spread over the field of the Pelennor, Orcs, trolls, and Southrons falling beneath their weapons. Some, after cutting their way through to the city, dispatched those ravaging Minas Tirith, drawing cries of fear and despair from the men who saw them.

The Grey Company was soon separated, each defending himself from a seemingly-unbreakable circle of enemies. Elladan and Elrohir stood back-to-back, their movements synchronized as they parried the clumsy blows. Both were unscathed for the moment, though the Orcs seemed to be bent on making pin-cushions of the famous sons of Elrond, who had dogged their footsteps for so many hundreds of years.

Aragorn and Halbarad had been watching each others backs in the beginning, but Orcs had pressed in between them, and they were now a distance apart. The burning city reflected in Anduril's shining steel, the image seeming to taunt Isildur's heir as though it whispered to him, speaking of the impossibility of his mission.

Sparing a glance behind him, Aragorn saw that Halbarad was, like himself, beset by more Orcs than was healthy. _The world would be a better place if we were all twins,_ he reflected to himself as he took down a particularly annoying goblin that had been trying to skewer him on the end of its spear for the past few moments. His eyes flickered rather enviously towards his foster brothers, who had managed to evade separation as of yet. _On the other hand, if there were thousands of Elladan's and Elrohir's swarming all over the place, there may not be a world in which to exist._ He came back to reality with a start as he heard the whine of an arrow pass merely inches from his head, inwardly chastising himself for becoming distracted. Ducking to escape a second shaft, he took the chance to drive his sword into the heart of an advancing warg.

As for Halbarad, the gap between himself and Aragorn was steadily getting larger. Muttering a curse, the doughty Dunadan strove strove to close the distance somewhat, but his attempts were in vain. He was in the middle of the battlefield, and his head was ringing with the clanging of blades, the snarls of wargs and the trumpeting of the stampeding oliphaunts. Besides, he could barely spare the time to catch sight of Aragorn before his attention was drawn back to the Orcs that swarmed around him as thickly as flies.

Even as he voiced this complaint silently in his head, his eyes sought out his cousin, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the chieftain of the Dúnedain had been joined by the prince of Rohan, and the two were evidently holding a conversation as they cut through the sea of Orcs. He fended off a large Orc and removed its head before spinning to meet the next adversary.

He was now facing the city and out of his peripheral vision, he saw more of the wall come crumbling down as a boulder was catapulted into it. He began to doubt whether or not Aragorn would have a city to rule from – assuming he would survive this battle.

His train of thought came to an abrupt end as he felt pain lance through him, seeming to originate in his side. Faltering in his movements, he glanced down to assess the damage. A dirk protruded from his side, and the knife's owner stood grinning a few feet away, scimitar held menacingly in its claws. Swallowing his pain for the moment, he swung his own blade at the Orc, meeting the scimitar in midair before the filthy weapon could do him further injury.

He could feel his mind going fuzzy as blood poured from the wound in his side. He knew it could easily be fatal, even if the dirk was not poisoned – which it most likely was. He barely noticed as the ground began to tremble beneath his feet, so concentrated was he on his current adversary. The screams of the surrounding Orcs finally pierced his brain, and he ended the confrontation with a swift twist and upwards stab. He paid dearly for the move as he felt the wound widen. Sinking to his knees, he closed his eyes as he fought to keep the nausea and dizziness from overcoming him.

A bellowing roar seemingly right in his ear caused him to open his glazed eyes and he watched in absentminded wonder as he observed the oliphaunt that was lumbering towards him, swinging its head as it went.

He saw the curved, chain-covered tusk sweeping towards him and finally realized what was about to happen. Casting himself to the ground in a vain attempt to escape being caught on the horn, he felt the breath leave him in a rush as the bone crashed into his chest, snapping his ribs and knocking the dirk out. The pain increased into unbearable agony as he felt himself flying through the air, until the relief of unconsciousness finally overcame him.

None of the warriors were quite sure how much time passed before the Orcs were finally beaten back. War towers, knocked to the ground or collapsed by oliphaunts running wild or trolls as they fell, lay scattered over the field. Bodies and carcasses met the eye wherever it turned, and the smells of smoke, blood, and sweat made even the strongest nauseous.

Aragorn sank to his knees as he realized it was over, panting in exertion. Once he had caught his breath somewhat, he looked around the field, bleakly wondering how many of his men had survived the ordeal. His eyes came to rest on Legolas and Gimli, drawn more by the Dwarf's loud voice and red hair than by anything else. On his other side, Elladan and Elrohir inspected the downed enemy, ensuring all were dead instead of whiling away their last moments in torment.

A few Rangers picked their ways through the carnage, looking for dead companions and friends, but none of them was the one he was looking for. Where was Halbarad? With growing anxiety, he stumbled to his feet, wiping his dripping sword on his cloak before re-sheathing Anduril.

'Halbarad!' he shouted, hoping that if his friend was merely injured, he would be able to answer.

His call died away, and his concern heightened. Forcing his face to become an emotionless mask – a talent picked up from his foster-father – Aragorn began searching for any sign of his cousin. Moments passed, the silence seeming loud to his ears after the deafening sound of battle. He started when a hand came down on his shoulder, and spun to face Elladan.

'We have found him,' the Half-Elf announced shortly.

Aragorn took in his brother's solemn face, and he knew there was little hope. 'Lead me to him, then.'

Elrohir, kneeling beside the broken body of Halbarad, glanced up when his brothers drew near. 'I am sorry, Aragorn,' he said softly. 'His neck and back are broken, and his chest is crushed. There is some small measure of comfort, however: he could not have survived long with such serious injuries. He did not suffer for more than a few moments, I am sure.'

Aragorn let out a shuddering breath. He had seen death more times than he could count, but never had the victim been such a close friend, nor had he thought to see his own cousin come to such a violent end. Now, as his eyes ran over Halbarad's lifeless, mangled body, he fell to his knees before turning away and retching.

* * *

The Houses of Healing were filled past their capacities, and still more injured and dying were being brought in. Aragorn, having cast thoughts of Halbarad from his mind for the moment, was concentrating on saving as many men as possible before it was too late. Aiding him were the dozen Gondorian healers, as well as Elladan, Elrohir, and Gandalf.

Elladan pressed his fingers to his temples as he left the room of his latest patient, leaving behind bloody fingerprints. There was little hope for the severely injured man, having suffered a severe blow to the head as well as a deep gash to his right side. The twin's energy, already depleted by the long fight, was beginning to give out. The shoulder wound he had sustained nearing the end of the battle didn't help. It was not serious, but it was painful and hampered his arm movements. He was surprised that neither of his brothers had realized yet – especially Elrohir.

As he passed one of the many rooms, the door opened suddenly, and Elladan caught a glimpse of Aragorn and Gandalf sitting at the bedside. His eyes were drawn to the exiting the room as a flurry of excited speech came to his ears.

'Oh, my lord. I do beg your pardon; I did not see you there.'

Elladan bit back a smile. The only one in danger of not being seen was the speaker – a short, plump woman of about sixty-five. She barely came up to his chest. 'It is nothing, mistress,' he said aloud, reaching out and steadying the bowl of water, which was currently held at a precarious angle in the woman's hands. 'May I take something for you?'

'Call me Ioreth,' the woman said cheerfully, permitting Elladan to relieve her of the bowl. 'And thank you, my lord. Any assistance would be welcome.'

As they walked towards the herb rooms, where many of the medications and pastes were prepared, Ioreth kept up a steady stream of conversation.

' _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer_ , I have always said, and sure enough, I was proven to be correct once again! Ah, you should have seen him, my lord! It was wondrous, to be sure. The poor child oughtn't to have survived another few hours, by all rights, so overcome was she with the Black Breath. But –'

'I beg your pardon,' Elladan interrupted, glancing down at the bobbing head of the healer. 'But is it wise to mention a malady such as that in these halls, without necessity? I myself know the horrors of being under the influence of those creatures, and as this is a place of healing, well...'

Ioreth glanced up at him, before nodding her head. 'Aye, you speak truly. My sisters always have told me that I would be wise to think before I utter the first thing that comes to mind.'

Elladan hid a smile behind his hand. 'I simply do not wish to bring further distress to those recovering here.'

The healer looked up at him again, her grey eyes keen. 'I may not be as learned as one of your kind,' she said suddenly. 'But I have heard tell that Lord Elrond is the most renowned healer in Middle-earth.'

Elladan inclined his head. 'It is true that my father has skills far beyond any other.'

Ioreth was silent for a moment, and Elladan grinned again.

'Including my own king's?' she asked at last.

'Elrond and Aragorn have different healing techniques. The Eldar have the ability to reach their patients' souls, in some cases, and draw them back from death. Aragorn, as you are obviously aware, has the blood of kings running through his veins, and can heal in such a manner that even my father cannot.'

Ioreth nodded, seemingly pleased with the answer. 'You must be a great healer, yourself,' she pressed. 'At any rate, such is to be expected from one sired by Lord Elrond.'

'I have not the talents of my father, nor, in a way, of Aragorn. But yes, I suppose I have some skill.' They had reached the herb rooms, and Elladan opened the door for the woman. Placing the bowl of water on the counter, he watched as Ioreth set about expertly to pounding various pungent herbs into a paste with a pestle. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Mithrandir requested some willowbark tea be made for the _perian,_ Meriadoc.' She hesitated, then glanced up at the Elf. 'I assume you know how to make it?'

The twin nodded solemnly, inwardly chuckling. 'I have been steeped – forgive the pun – in the knowledge of tea-brewing since I was knee-high to Lord Glorfindel.'

Ioreth nodded equally solemnly, the name of the Balrog-slayer seeming to have no effect on her. 'That is well, then.'

* * *

Later that evening, the twins and Aragorn were together in Merry's chamber. The convalescing halfling, along with Pippin and Pippin's human friend, Bergil, were entertaining Aragorn with tales of their adventures in Rohan and Gondor. The twins had slipped in midway through Pippin's retelling of Denethor's madness, and were now listening, intrigued.

'How is Faramir?' Pippin asked, finishing the tale. 'I have heard no news of him.'

'He is recovering,' Aragorn replied. 'He woke and spoke with me for a moment. Within a few weeks, he should be fully recovered.'

Elladan noticed that Bergil had been staring at him for some time. Smiling at the lad in order to put him at ease, he waited for Bergil to voice whatever was on his mind.

'Begging your pardon, my lord,' the boy said at last, his voice soft. 'But is your arm all right?'

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Coming up next: the Last Debate and more fighting (hopefully, lol. I meant for the debate to happen in this chapter, but it got too long).

Hope you enjoyed this chapter; I would love it if you would tell me what you think of it! Also, happy Easter in advance!


	24. Chapter 24

**Part XXIV**

 **A/N:** Here's a longer chapter for you guys. It's about twice as long as I usually make them!

* * *

Elladan paled a notch at Bergil's question. Glancing from his twin to Aragorn and back to Bergil, he swallowed convulsively. Faramir may be fully recovered within a few weeks, but Elladan had a feeling that he himself would, by that time, just be finishing up bandaging all the wounds he was about to sustain – at the hands of his own brothers. 'My arm is fine,' he replied at last, smiling weakly at the boy. 'Why do you ask?'

Bergil looked mildly surprised. 'You are bleeding, my lord.'

Immediately, five sets of eyes went to Elladan's arm – the sleeve was indeed spotted with blood. Evidently the bandage he had wound around the wound had become sodden, no doubt as a result of the lack of proper care and rest.

'Excuse us,' Elrohir said ominously, rising to his feet and grasping Elladan by his uninjured arm. Practically pulled from the room, Elladan had no choice but to follow after his younger twin.

'Elrohir,' he began. 'I can explain, brother.'

'I am sure you can,' Elrohir snapped back. 'You always have an explanation for everything – whether or not said explanation is reliable is a completely different question.'

'Elrohir!' Elladan remonstrated, grabbing hold of a door-frame in order to bring them both to a halt. 'That is unfair! I would never lie about something like this to you.'

'No? Hiding it was as good as lying, Elladan! If you have any sense at all, twin, I would suggest that you tell me the truth. Now!'

'There is nothing to tell,' Elladan answered, permitting himself to be dragged onwards. 'There was a battle. People were wounded. I am a healer. I had to help.'

'You could have helped better if you were not ignoring your own needs,' Elrohir snapped. He reached an empty room and pulled his brother towards the bed. 'Sit.'

Elladan sighed as he obeyed, watching as his brother kicked the door shut and strode over to him. Deciding against aggravating Elrohir further, he reached up and unlaced his tunic, pulling it over his head. Not bothering to hide a wince as the wound was pulled, he saw Elrohir's face darken at the sight of his injury.

The younger twin immediately set to work. His gentle fingers belied his sharp tone of voice and Elladan relaxed almost immediately. As he dipped a clean cloth into the bowl of water on the bedside table, Elrohir glanced up at his brother. 'How did this happen?'

'I got distracted,' Elladan admitted grudgingly. 'And a man from Harad took advantage of that.'

Elrohir arched an eyebrow, worry setting in. He was well aware that the Haradrim often dipped their weapons in poison prior to combat. However, he could see no trace of infection or poison, and settled for packing the wound with healing herbs and wrapping a fresh bandage around it. 'You are most fortunate Glorfindel is not here to hear that you got distracted,' he said at last, finally meeting his brother's eyes. 'He would work you to Mandos and back.'

Elladan gave a small smile. 'He'll find out somehow, you know,' he answered wryly. 'He always does.'

Elrohir nodded shortly, then narrowed his gaze. 'Elladan,' he began again. 'If you feel any discomfort _whatsoever_ , you will tell me, no matter the time, no matter the place. Should I find that you are again hiding things from me, I will personally see to it that you are cut into thousands of little pieces and sewn back together. With a blunt needle. Do you understand?'

Elladan nodded, seeing fear and hurt behind his twin's mask of anger. 'I am sorry, Elrohir.'

'Ha,' Elrohir answered, tossing the red-tainted water out the window. 'That is as it should be.' He turned around and sighed, seeming to grow smaller before Elladan's eyes. 'Go to bed, Elladan.'

* * *

The next morning, Aragorn arrived at Elladan's room, intending to check the wound. Elrohir had given him a full description of it, and the news that it did not seem to be poisoned had caused much of Aragorn's anger to diminish. Still, his countenance was none too pleased as he entered the chamber.

'Good morning, Aragorn,' Elladan greeted from where he sat on the bed, sharpening a dagger.

'Stop that,' Aragorn ordered curtly. 'That is hardly going to help your shoulder to heal.'

With a sigh, the twin sheathed his dagger and replaced the whetstone in his pocket. 'I am sorry, Aragorn. I knew it was not serious. If it had been, believe me when I saw I would never have let it sit unattended for so long.'

'There is no use arguing over it,' Aragorn said at last. 'What is done is done.' He unwrapped the bandage, pleased to see that the wound had not bled further. Again cleaning the wound, he packed it with fresh herbs and replaced the bandage. 'You are lucky it was not poisoned. If it had been, you would have been confined to this room, resting, while Elrohir and I meet with the captains of the North to discuss our next move.'

Elladan perked up in interest. 'What do you have in mind?'

'That is precisely what I have to discuss with them,' Aragorn replied, his tone suggesting that he was speaking to a young child. 'No lifting, no doing anything with this arm. In fact –' Aragorn crossed the room in a few strides to where a closet stood, well-supplied with splints, slings, and common herbs. Pulling out a sling, he held it up triumphantly, inwardly grinning as Elladan scowled. 'I may as well use this to ensure you listen this time, you stubborn Elf.'

Despite his aversion to the sling, Elladan sat meekly as his foster brother fastened the fabric around his neck and arranged it in such a way that it would support his arm and shoulder.

'If you remove it before I say you may, then I will –'

'I know,' Elladan interrupted, glaring at the sling. 'You will cut me into thousands of pieces and use a blunt needle to sew me up again.'

Aragorn was silent for a moment. 'Not what I was going to say,' he said at last. 'But it will do.'

* * *

That afternoon, Aragorn and the twins made their way towards Aragorn's tents, which had been pitched outside the city. There, they found Gandalf waiting for them, and not long after, Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Eomer of Rohan joined them.

A long debate followed, with Gandalf and Aragorn as the main speakers. Together they outlined the plan they had come up with earlier, and listened to the others' input.

'We have vanquished a great army,' Mithrandir said calmly, gripping his staff with both hands as he paced back and forth. 'But the one that will await us in the land of Mordor will be even greater. There is little hope of any who ride with us returning. Many of our own were either killed or are too severely injured to ride forth. And the thousands that you –' he nodded towards Aragorn '–summoned are no longer under oath to Gondor, nor is there time to request their aid again.

'Sauron's numbers have multiplied, while ours have dwindled. But we have an advantage: Sauron is not aware of precisely where the One Ring is. He is wise, and realizes that there are those on our side who have the strength to wield the Ring themselves. If such should be the case, his own perch would become precarious.

'Not only is he wise, however, but he is also proud, and such a trait could prove to be his undoing. Long have some of us taunted him, bringing grief to his armies and servants. The sting has been felt by him for thousands of years, and he will not forget that as he opens the Black Gate. His legions will pour forth in an effort to overcome the irritating little flies that trouble him at his doorstep, the temptation too great to pass over. And while we draw his thoughts and gaze to ourselves, the Ringbearer will find himself with an open land and a clear road to Orodruin.'

At last it was decided that no more than seven thousand would be able to make the journey. Men were needed to guard the city, should a second, smaller attack be launched. Six thousand foot, mainly made up by the Gondorians and Rohirrim, while another thousand would ride – mostly Rohirrim and knights of Dol Amroth. In the latter group, Mithrandir, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the twins would ride.

When Merry was told of the plans, he begged Aragorn to permit him to accompany the army. Despite his pleas, Aragorn refused to grant permission.

'You are not yet fit for another battle, and two days will not heal you sufficiently. Even if you remain here in order to recover fully, Merry, do not fear that you have not already gained valour through your deeds. For as long as the people of Middle-earth remember the War of the Ring, they will remember Meriadoc Brandybuck and the lady Eowyn of Rohan, without whom the Witch King of Angmar would not have been brought down.'

Merry had sat back against the headboard of his bed and sighed. Pippin was to go, and of course Legolas and Gimli would be accompanying Aragorn. While Frodo and Sam struggled step-by-step towards Mount Doom, and Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Pippin sallied forth on a suicidal mission, he was to remain lying in bed, trying to regain his strength.

The day of the army's departure arrived, and the seven thousand soldiers gathered together on the mostly-cleared battlefield. The trumpets of the city were blown in a farewell fanfare, and slowly, the group, organized into regiments, began its journey East, towards the Black Land.

* * *

The evening after the army set out from Minas Tirith, they came to Minas Morgul. A cold fear was set upon the hearts of Men, and neither those from Gondor nor those from Rohan would draw nigh to the city. Aragorn, accompanied by Gandalf, as well as his foster brothers and Legolas and Gimli, held their weapons at ready and slowly advanced on the seemingly-abandoned fortification.

The air reeked of decay and pure evil, and the silence of the city only added to the mysterious dread that fell like a mantle over the newcomers.

'The stench is enough to deter anyone from this road,' Gimli muttered into the still air, his eyes darting from side to side. He held his axe in front of him, ready to put it to use at a moment's notice.

His companions did not answer, loathe to speak, as though afraid of alerting any creature within the city of their presence. They continued forward, the silence palpable. Despite the sense of evil that enshrouded the place, they came upon no live enemy, though rotting corpses littered the roadsides and crudely-dug ditches.

At last they returned to the open, breathing the comparatively-clean air with relief. 'The city is dead,' Gandalf announced to the waiting army. 'Nonetheless, we will not go through, lest our warriors be taken by madness as a result of the evil air that lingers.'

When they stopped for the night, Aragorn reckoned that they were yet six leagues from the Morannon. 'We must hasten,' he spoke to Mithrandir. 'Frodo's time grows short. We must draw Sauron's attention to ourselves before it is too late.'

'We do not attempt to hide ourselves,' the wizard replied bluntly. 'If the Dark Lord and his minions have any wisdom at all – which evidently they do – they will be perfectly aware of our whereabouts already. Do you not feel the watchfulness of this place?'

'I do,' Aragorn sighed. 'It gives me a sense of uneasiness. It is unnatural that we have not been challenged yet, even this far from the Nameless Land.'

'Sauron is biding his time,' Gandalf replied darkly, leaning on his staff. 'Rest assured, the challenge will come.'

* * *

Late that night, Aragorn sat at the dimly-glowing embers of the fire, cold pipe held absently in his fingers. It was not his watch hour, but sleep evaded him. His grey eyes shifted to glance at the two groups of watchers in his line of sight. The men paced back and forth, apparently as uneasy as he was himself. Their gazes were ever drawn into the darkness of Ithilien's woods, as though waiting to see movement.

A hand on Aragorn's shoulder caused the Ranger to start, before he sighed inwardly. 'Elladan.'

The twin chuckled softly, nudging Aragorn in the side. 'Elrohir.'

Aragorn sighed a second time. 'Do not blame me. I made a wild guess, since I can hardly see in this cursed darkness.'

'Do not believe the liar,' another quiet, Elven voice said from behind the two. 'I am Elrohir.'

'I do not know which to believe,' Aragorn admitted, jabbing the end of his pipe into Elladan's (or was it Elrohir?) ribs. The twin gave a soft squawk and put some distance between himself and the man.

The innocent twin – Elrohir – sat down on Aragorn's other side. 'Are you going to tell us what is on your mind? You have been sitting here all night, staring off into nothing. You should be getting some sleep.'

'And you should not be?' Aragorn questioned, raising an eyebrow at Elrohir. 'Do not be a hypocrite, brother.'

'You know very well that we can stand the loss more efficiently than can you,' Elladan answered, with a touch of arrogance in his tone.

Aragorn buried his face in his hands. He _was_ tired, now that he thought about it. 'I have been thinking,' he began. 'It is odd that we have not been attacked – Valar, we have not even been challenged! I never thought we would get this far before becoming engaged in at least a skirmish. But we are being watched; I seem to feel eyes boring into my back wherever I turn. But I have seen nothing!'

Elrohir nodded. 'I also. It is frustrating, but you are restraining yourself admirably – much better than a certain someone I could mention. I believe some of the young men – and the halfling accompanying us – have been traumatized as a result of hearing a barrage of curses issuing from our own brother's mouth.'

Aragorn gave a small smile, recognising the attempt to cheer him up, even if it was at Elladan's expense. 'I would have thought they would be delighted to learn some solid Elvish profanity, especially at the hand of the master of that art.'

'That would be Glorfindel,' Elladan said darkly. 'Not me.'

'I have my doubts,' Elrohir baited his brother, before returning to Aragorn. 'Elladan and I will scout out the eastern side of the road tomorrow, if you wish. The wood is thicker on that side, and the bushes and foliage provide excellent cover for the enemy. If it would ease your mind, we will ensure that no such danger is posed.'

'At the risk of getting yourselves annihilated,' Aragorn replied wryly. 'Very well, muindyr nín. But take care of yourselves.'

Elrohir rose to his feet. 'Since when have we not? It does take a little care to survive this long with you as a brother, Aragorn. Believe me.'

'Now is really not the time to joke,' Elladan said, frowning at his twin. 'We are on the brink of sure destruction, Elrohir. You had best prepare yourself.'

'And allow us to become as to moody, pessimistic grandparents, just waiting for the end? Thank you, but I think not. I would rather die remembering our last days as bright, instead of days whiled away by hopeless thoughts.'

Aragorn rose to his feet with a yawn. 'I would not call Galadriel and Celeborn moody and pessimistic, Elrohir. They may not take it well. Now good night.'

* * *

The next morning, true to Elrohir's words, the twins set out on a practically-unused trail, running parallel to, though some distance from, the road. A stream of colourful oaths trickled from Elladan's lips almost continually, though he was careful to ensure that his tone would be inaudible to all but an elf.

'Really, brother,' Elrohir sighed after a couple of hours. 'If Adar or Glorfindel heard you, I do not want to think of what would happen to you.'

'Adar and Glorfindel are far away,' Elladan said, pausing with his profanity for the time being. 'And under these circumstances, I am quite sure that Glorfindel, at any rate, would be swearing, too.'

'You would be better to remain silent, all the same. Whatever is watching us may be able to hear just as well as I.'

'On the other hand, whatever is watching us could just be the trees and bushes, placed under some spell by the Dark Lord.'

'In which case, if they are now able to see and observe us, they may also be able to hear us. So be quiet.'

Elladan took his brother's words to heart and from then on, he vented his frustration mentally instead of verbally.

Despite their watchfulness, neither twin noticed any moving creature for the entirety of the day. The wood was silent and still – no birds sang, and not even a breeze stirred the drooping branches of the trees. An uncomfortable sense of waiting seemed to blanket the woods, but Elladan and Elrohir could not figure out what exactly it was waiting for.

'The sense of evil could be a result of being so close to the Nameless Land,' Elrohir said quietly at one point. 'It does not necessarily follow that the trees themselves have been seduced by Sauron.'

'I do not know what to think,' Elladan admitted. 'We are being watched, apparently by the trees themselves, since we have not even vaguely felt the presence of Orcs or other fell creatures. For the life of me, I cannot tell if they look favourably on our presence, or if they have been corrupted and simply wait to see our destruction.'

'It is quite possible that they will witness the last point, at least,' Elrohir said pessimistically. 'Whether or not we have their good will.' He slowed, reaching out and catching Elladan's hand. 'I do not expect to return from this, Elladan.' He hesitated, then reached out through his bond with his twin, loathe to risk his next words being overheard.

 _'We both know that this is a desperate move on our part to give Frodo a few more hours. None of us expect to survive.'_

Elladan's grey eyes bore into Elrohir's, the twin's determination obvious. ' _As long as my brothers survive, Elrohir, I do not care what happens to myself – I would willingly go through death to ensure that you and Aragorn return to Adar.'_

 _'If you died, Elladan, there would be no question of my not following you. You cannot rid yourself of your tag-along twin that easily, muindor.'_

Elladan bit his lip in an attempt to hide the sudden emotion that welled up inside him. Glancing in the direction of the road, he was shocked to see the silhouettes of the army passing by. 'We are fine scouts, indeed!' he scoffed a moment later. 'I thought the general idea was that we went ahead in order to ensure safe passage, not stick behind everyone in order to hold morbid conversations in private. Come on.'

Elrohir grinned despite himself, and before long, they were running lightly over the ground, eyes and ears alert for any sound or sight out of the ordinary.

* * *

It was the seventh day since the army had departed from Minas Tirith, and the Morannon was in sight. Every warrior, from the oldest to the youngest, was downhearted and silent. Chill winds blew ceaselessly, whipping dust and ash into their eyes. The light was dull and unnatural, for the sun's rays could not pierce the perpetual clouds of smoke and vapours that filled the air.

The night before, the army had made camp on the outskirts of the Desolation of Morannon, and now, after eating what provisions remained in their packs, the men advanced the half-mile that remained in between them and the Morannon.

The hearts of men quailed when they beheld the Black Gate, flanked on either side by the Towers of the Teeth. Worst of all, though, was the sight of the eight remaining Ringwraiths, mounted on fell beasts, as they hovered over the Gate. Nevertheless, none of them made a move to attack the small army, instead allowing their menacing presences to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.

Aragorn, with the assistance of Gandalf, placed the army in as strategic position as time permitted. Using a large hill of rock and blasted earth to his advantage, he ordered his men to made ring around it. To the front left stood the Dúnedain with Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and Gimli, while towards the right stood the Prince of Dol Amroth and those chosen from the Tower of Guard. Aragorn and Gandalf would stand on a smaller hill a short ways in front of the army, in order to better command the men.

Now, however, Aragorn summoned the Captains of the West and the heralds to stand forth. Accompanied by a representative for every free race in Middle-earth, he crossed the expanse of land until he stood half a mile from the Black Gate.

The Ringwraiths remained mostly-motionless, though one of the fell beasts let out a belching roar of challenge and hatred.

Gandalf bid the heralds to blow on their trumpets before he himself called out, his voice ringing off the Gates and the surrounding hills. 'Come forth, Sauron, lord of Mordor, and meet us in battle, if you will! Unjustly you have trespassed on the lands of the Free People, slaughtering them as animals. Come out and fight us!'

For some time, there was no answer. Then a single horn echoed from beyond the Gates, and slowly, slowly, they began to open. To the representatives' surprise, no army issued forth, but instead there came a group of perhaps a dozen.

At the forefront rode a black-clad man, mounted on a horse larger than any other. Yet no Ringwraith was he, but the ambassador of Sauron, and so old and corrupted that none remembered his name. Fire issued from his nostrils and his eyes, and from his face, mostly hidden by a monstrous helmet, oozed dark pus and blood.

Coming to a halt some six feet from the representatives, he appraised them for a moment before speaking, his tone harsh and grating upon their ears. 'I am the Mouth of Sauron. My master bids me treat with thee.' He paused, his fiery eyes again raking over them. 'If indeed there are any worthy of doing so.'

Gandalf's fist clenched around his staff, but when he spoke, his voice was controlled. 'Is your master such a coward that he will not come out to answer our challenge himself?'

'Speak not of the Lord of Mordor in such a way, thou fool!' the Mouth snapped in response to Gandalf's baiting. 'My lord has sent me to treat with you, and such shall I do, however degrading such an order is to carry out in front of my troops.'

The eyes narrowed before fixing on Gandalf. 'In particular, my master desires me to show you these tokens.' With a cruel sneer, the Mouth of Sauron pulled from beneath his cloak a small blade, holding it up triumphantly.

Aragorn blanched, immediately recognizing Sam's sword from the Barrow-downs. His eyes jerked back to the Mouth of Sauron as the creature held up a second item.

Even in the dim light, the mithril coat of Frodo shimmered, its beauty undiminished even after being touched by the hands of the Mouth. Aragorn wrapped his hand around the hilt of Anduril, struggling against the almost overwhelming desire to decapitate the hideous monster that stood before them.

A third item the Mouth of Sauron held up, and Pippin, representing the hobbit-folk, could not stifle a small cry. Immediately, the Mouth of Sauron's eyes were drawn to the halfling, where he sat behind Gandalf. 'Ah, you have another of the little blighters with you. I am glad to see that my tokens mean something to you. My master told me to tell you that the former owners of these pretties suffered tremendously at the hands of their captors.'

Aragorn closed his eyes in horror, trying to convince himself that the Mouth was simply trying to bait them. The same grating voice penetrated his mind a moment later, and he forced himself to listen.

'Furthermore, my lord Sauron says that the prisoners shall not be released, nor shall their torments be lessened, unless you and your rabble agree to my lord's terms.' The Mouth's eyes flickered to rest on the army in the near distance before returning to Gandalf. 'As you appear to be the spokesman, I await your answer.'

'I believe that generally, the terms are given before they are agreed to,' Gandalf replied scathingly, inwardly dreading what the terms might include.

The Mouth of Sauron's eyes darkened, and the flames in them seemed to spark as anger set in. 'It is hardly wise to become insolent with me, greybeard. You are, in the end, grievously outnumbered, shall we say?'

'Name them,' Gandalf ground out.

The Mouth of Sauron drew up in his saddle before beginning. 'These are the terms of my master...'

As the ambassador of Sauron spoke, Elladan's eyes slid over to meet Elrohir's, horror plainly written in both pairs. They had not known Frodo nor Sam well, but Bilbo had spoken of both of them often during his years in Imladris. And the thought of any innocent creature being condemned to living out the rest of his life as a prisoner of the Dark Lord was unbearable. To imagine Bilbo's reaction to the news that Frodo and Sam would never return was unthinkable.

 _'He will accept,'_ Elrohir said silently. _'He **must** accept.'_

Elladan nodded, the movement so slight that it was barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the Mouth of Sauron, who was finishing stating Sauron's terms.

Silence reigned for a moment, as Gandalf made up his mind. As the wizard prepared to announce his decision, no one breathed, knowing that either way, the answer and its result would be drastic.

'We do not accept the terms you have stated,' Gandalf said at last, gazing imperiously at the Mouth. 'But nonetheless, I will take these!' A blinding, white light emanated suddenly from his brandished staff, and both the Mouth and his guards cowered back before the wizard. Riding forth a few steps, Gandalf reached out and snatched the blade, cloak, and coat before turning and calling a retreat.

Even as the representatives returned in haste to the waiting men, the Black Gates swung wide open, and the army of Sauron poured forth.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Ha, I know I've left out a lot of details in this chapter: the ambush by men of Harad on the second day of travel, Aragorn dismisses the fainthearted, and the fact that there were Nazgul keeping tabs on them from the sky among others. I want this story to be finished sooner rather than later, so I'm trying to speed things up a little. Besides, with my rather limited number of good reference books and maps (and even more-limited internet!), it is a lot of work for me to figure out dates and incidents so that they correspond well enough. So, since this is fanfiction, I thought I'd give poor Aragorn a break and let him have a bit of an easier journey. ;)

Also, as a side-note, I've decided that a league is about 20 miles. I have absolutely no clue if that is correct or not, but whatever.

Hope you enjoyed, and that any hardcore purists among my readers aren't too put out!


	25. Chapter 25

**Part XXV**

Elladan winced as his mostly-healed wound sent twinges of pain down his arm. It had taken him some time to convince Elrohir and Aragorn that he was fit to fight instead of sitting on the sidelines as a healer. Twenty minutes into the battle, however, he was uncomfortably aware as the scab pulled at the surrounding skin with every movement.

There really was no hope, the elder twin reflected as he narrowly avoided a troll's mace. Unless the Halflings displayed a most impeccable sense of timing, this battle would be over within an hour, and all would be lost.

Blocking an Orc's scimitar, Elladan felt the warm trickle of blood increase as the scab finally gave way beneath the sudden pressure. He glanced towards his arm, observing that the sleeve was already sodden. _Maybe this is more serious than I made it out to be,_ he thought absently.

The Orc, taking advantage of Elladan's lapse in awareness, twisted his scimitar viciously, succeeding in escaping from Elladan's own blade. Without missing a beat, he swept his crude weapon in a horizontal arc, intending to draw it across the Elf's middle.

Elladan started back to reality, cursing himself for his preoccupation. His eyes widened as he saw the notched, blood-coated scimitar coming towards him, and realized that even if he could raise his own sword in defense, he would still receive potentially-serious injuries. The Orc's blade was coming towards him too swiftly, and with such force that Elladan, with his injured arm, could not hope to match.

Inwardly steeling himself to the pain that would undoubtedly descend upon him within seconds, the elder twin raised his sword in order to meet the Orc's in a desperate bid. To his surprise, when his enemy's scimitar did reach his own weapon, the force behind the blow was nowhere near to what Elladan had expected.

The scimitar ran down the sleek Elven blade with a rasping noise, slowing to a stop some inches from Elladan's hilt. Jerking the Orc's weapon from its claw with a swift movement, Elladan watched as his opponent's eyes lost their malicious shine, going dull and glassy as the twisted creature fell to the corpse-littered ground. Only then did Elladan see the knife, identical to one of his own, protruding from the back of the Orc's head.

He raised his eyes to those of his twin, who was standing some ten feet away. Elrohir gave him a short nod before turning his own attention back to the battle at hand. Moving a hand to the partially-full quiver on his back, Elrohir drew an arrow and notched it to his bow, aiming the projectile towards an advancing troll.

 _It must be an enormously heavy troll,_ he thought to himself as he released the arrow. _For the ground is shaking as though there were an earthquake._ A second arrow found its mark in the troll's neck before Elrohir realized that the tremors passing through the earth were not the result of the troll. _Elrohir, you daft Elf, it **is**_ _an earthquake!_

By this time, many of those fighting had ceased for the moment, some hardly daring to hope, others refusing to believe. Thousands of gazes turned towards Mordor, taking in the great Eye in the tower of Barad-Dur, which was now focused on the mountain that towered towards the sky in the distance.

The tremors became stronger as the seconds passed, and all at once, the volcano erupted. Plumes of lava and ash shot upwards before their eyes, and black smoke was belched forth from the cracks and crevices of the mountain.

Elrohir turned with some difficulty from the volcano towards Barad-Dur as the tower tilted slowly towards the heaving ground. Sauron's Eye swiveled towards the Black Gate before returning to Mount Doom, seemingly oblivious of the fact that his stronghold was crumbling into the surrounding pits of molten lava.

Above the armies, the Nazgul on their steeds screamed, instantly abandoning their posts in the air and winging their way towards the collapsing tower.

The next few moments passed in a haze. Elrohir fell to his knees as three eagles passed overhead, flying towards the volcano. They passed out of sight into the smoky gloom, but no one on the Morannon moved. All present watched, spellbound, as the Tower of Barad-Dur crashed to the ground amid fiery moats, spitting lava and debris hundreds of feet into the air.

It was at that moment that the minions of Sauron, either making a last stand of loyalty or sensing a desperate command from their Master, began running towards the Black Gates, ignoring their motionless foes. Screams and howls filled the air as the army of the Dark Lord surged towards Mordor, heedless of the flying chunks of rock and the rain of lava that continued to fall. A short-lived skirmish occurred as they fought their ways through the crowds of Men, back towards the Black Land.

Then all was quiet. The roar of countless wings beating the air, the screams of man and beast alike, and the crashes as the earth convulsed were silenced. Still, the paralysis that had overcome the army continued, and thousands of gazes remained fixed on the smoking mountain and twisted gates.

Mithrandir was the first to stir. Raising his bloody sword into the air, he called aloud in Elvish, summoning the lord of the Eagles to him. As Gwaihir alighted on the carcass of a troll, the wizard made his request known.

'Many times have you served me, my friend, and yet I ask one more favour. Bear me to Orodruin, you and two of your kind, for the Halflings will need rescue, if they still live.'

Gwaihir bowed his head in agreement and permitted Mithrandir to climb onto his back. With a shrill call to his companions, he rose into the air and winged his way swiftly towards the volcano.

It was as though Mithrandir's departure had awakened everyone else from their stupor. Seeing the three eagles head towards Mount Doom, all thoughts turned to Frodo and Sam, who were more than likely dead, either crushed by flying debris or turned to ashes by lava.

Gwaihir and his brethren disappeared into the clouds of smoke, and at last Aragorn turned to Legolas, who stood beside him. 'Duties await, and lives depend on us. We must separate the wounded from the dead and tend to them as soon as possible. Spread the word among the army.'

Hours passed as the uncrowned king's orders were carried out. Fallen allies were separated from fallen foes, and the wounded were transported to hastily-pitched tents, where the inexperienced healers of Gondor and Rohan were assisted by the three sons of Elrond.

The night passed slowly as they waited for news from Mithrandir, but none came. Morning dawned reluctantly, the sun fighting to pierce the thick, unnatural clouds that still blanketed the Morannon. Still, there was no word from the wizard.

Aragorn heaved a sigh as he tied off the thread after stitching yet another wound. His entire body was one agonizing ache, and an unbeatable weariness tortured him relentlessly. Rising to his feet, he rolled his shoulders experimentally, vaguely surprised that he could still stand straight after kneeling in a cramped position for so long. Wiping the perspiration from his brow with his forearm, he stepped outside the tent, rubbing the back of his neck.

Those lucky enough to be uninjured had done remarkable work during the last day, he reflected in slight surprise. Many of the orc carcasses had been cleared from the battlefield, and smoke still rose from where they were being burned, downwind from the camp. Aragorn noted with a grim smile that Gimli was assisting a large group of men in building stone cairns over the remains of their fallen allies.

Meanwhile, halfway across the camp from Aragorn, Elrohir was finishing up with his last patient – namely, Elladan.

'Do you think we're dead?' the elder twin inquired, mostly serious. 'I never thought we would be in any other state after seeing that army emerge from behind the Black Gates.'

In answer, Elrohir reached out and prodded his brother's bandaged arm, grinning half-heartedly at Elladan's yelp of protest. 'If you feel that, I assume we're still alive. I can't boast of experience, but I am pretty sure that when one's body is dead, one's spirit does not adopt the senses. We'll have to ask Glorfindel.'

Elladan yawned, his exhaustion beginning to catch up to him. Glancing up at Elrohir, he detected a scheming spark in his twin's expression, and was immediately suspicious. That look only meant one thing: his brother either had a 'clever' plan, or he had scored a success. His brow creasing in thought, Elladan feverishly tried to recall whether he had eaten or drunk anything handed to him by Elrohir recently. _No medicine, no food, no water..._

'Here.' Elrohir's voice seemed to come from a distance, and Elladan automatically reached out to accept the proffered water-skin. Lifting it to his lips, he drank the cool water that his twin had somehow found, his brain still working to figure out a reason for Elrohir's seeming triumph.

 _No medicine, no food, no wat–_

Elladan's thoughts stopped. His eyes moved down to the water-skin, and then up to Elrohir's face, which now sported a devious smirk. 'You little –'

The devious smirk remained, its owner not put out in the least over the names that were currently being hurled at him. Stepping across the tent to his twin, Elrohir calmly plucked the mostly-empty water-skin from his brother's hands.

'Go to sleep. Estel and I will already be getting an earful from Adar about allowing you to fight with such an arm-wound. There is no reason for it to look like we also made you stay up all night afterwards, using your nonexistent energy to heal people.'

'You didn't make me,' Elladan muttered, the drugs already affecting him. Laying back on the makeshift bed, he continued almost inaudibly. 'I made me.'

This time, Elrohir's smile was genuine as he laid his cloak over his drowsy brother. 'Sleep, Elladan,' he commanded quietly.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Landroval, Gwaihir's brother, returned to the encamped army. Upon his arrival, he requested to speak with Aragorn immediately.

'The Halflings live,' he began without preamble, once the Ranger had greeted him. 'Both were in serious states when we found them, stranded on the mountainside. Mithrandir has healed both, and they are recovering in the green woods of Ithilien.'

Aragorn nodded, his heart lightening with every second. He had a feeling that no one expected either Hobbit, let alone both, to be alive and more-or-less well. 'Thank you for the message, my friend. My heart sings to hear that Frodo and Sam are safe. If you will, remain here and rest. Eat, if there be any decent food to be found. Alas, we have nought but stale bread and dried fruit.'

'I must return to my brother,' Landroval replied. 'Fare well.' With a great beating of wings, the eagle had soared into the air, heading back in the direction of Ithilien.

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** Ahhhh! I finally finished this chapter! I have been toiling over this thing for AGES; I was so stuck. Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading (and that it wasn't too slow-paced), and I would love it if you would tell me what you thought of it!


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